


Divinity of Darkness

by Dragon_MoonX



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Cover Art, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 35,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5345261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_MoonX/pseuds/Dragon_MoonX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories exploring moments in the life of Kefka Palazzo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cursed Rainbow

It was a cold, hard fact that Kefka hated pretty much everyone and everything around him. He loathed the people around him, and considered it an inconvenience whenever he had to step outside and deal with the general public. He wanted to destroy all living things, to watch the streets run red with their blood, washing away the filth that stained the earth, the scum that was the human race. How he hated them.

He hated the noise they made when he was trying to sleep, those insipid little monkeys, jabbering away about their meaningless lives, their families back home, as of any of that mattered. One of the soldiers told Kefka that his wife had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl, and Kefka, frowning in disgust, was quick to offer the man his condolences, for there was nothing he hated more than children and the annoying sounds and smells they made.

He despised their ignorance, watching from a distance as they fought to keep their hopes and dreams alive, believing in such foolish things they couldn't see or grasp. The world around them was dying, like a wounded bird flapping its wings in a futile attempt to escape the clutches of death, fighting a battle it could not win. Death was something that was real. It was all around them. He'd held it in his hands, captured the essence of death as he snuffed out the lives of others, watching them take their last breath as they passed into the infinite darkness that awaits us all.

He took pleasure in watching them suffer, in seeing the look of horror on their faces as he twisted the knife in their bellies, each cut deeper than the last. He wanted to to see them choke on their own blood, to see crismson fluid cascading freely over their severed limbs as they lay dead at his feet. It was better than the cold shades of metal and iron that surround him within the halls of the Imperial Palace. This place was so cold, nothing in it lived anymore, which is what made it such a fitting place to die, surrounded by hollow pipes and steel floors.

Kefka would get out of bed in the morning, staring out his window at the industrial factories that dotted the landscape, their dark smoke trailing across a sky of grey clouds. The world around him was so bleak and dull, without color and excitement. He pressed his palm against the glass, gazing at his own reflection in the window, then looked down at the hand held against the glass.

His hands were covered with burns caused by accidents he had while he was learning how to use his magic. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't gained complete control of his magic. He doubted that was possible, for it was something that comsumed him, the ghost of long dead Espers racing through his veins, slowly poisoning his mind, screaming for release from within the body that imprisoned thwm. And those burns, the areas that laced his fingers in shades of red and brown, were a lasting reminder of the torture he'd undergone in the empire's quest to create the perfect Magitek Knight.

It was a cursed gift, the ability to use magic. It was something that came with a price, breaking down the very inner workings of his mind until all that remained was the shattered echoes of who he used to be. And in time those would fade as well. It was one of the reasons why he'd given up believing in this world, because everything he'd ever known had disintegrated into dust, taking with it the last conscious remnants of the life he had before the experiments began.

He slowly ran his fingertips over the burns, feeling the rough, dry texture of his skin. The skin had blistered and peeled along the inside of his middle finger, while unsightly red blemishes dotted the back of his left hand around his thumb and index finger. A white band shown on his ring finger like a tan line, marking the area where the garnet ring he wore prevented his entire finger from being burned.

The colors that filled his world were shades of ashen grey. The colors that covered his body were shades of red and brown, streaking and spotting a canvas of pale white. For that's what his body was, a canvas.

He grew tired of the only colors being those that represented the empire, colors that reminded him of the experiments that destroyed his sanity. That's all he had were burns and scars, fleeting nightmares and voices screaming, echoing in his mind, for most of his memories of those hideous experiments were lost to him. He wasn't even sure how he got these burns. All he knew was that he couldn't bear the sight of the burns that marred his flesh. He had to get rid of them. He had to restore the lost colors to his world, starting with the color red which was his favorite.

He began by painting his face and hands white. He wanted a clean canvas to work with, not one that had been stained with the colors of the empire. He painted his fingernails a brilliant shade of red, then began applying red eye shadow. When that wasn't enough he extended the crimson hues along the sides of his eyes, framing his blue irises with streaks of red, then added a red streak above each eyebrow.

Other colors came later, the multicolored silk scarves, the dangling strings of colorful beads that hung from his belt. He carefully sewed a strand of rainbow colored beads into the hem of his right sleeve, the strand tipped with red and yellow tassels. The beads dangling from his belt were orange, purple, red and green, his yellow and red ruff matched his cloak, and his mismatched boots were white and black.

A stitch here, a splash of color there, and pretty soon his new clothes were finished. He was covered from head to toe in every color of the rainbow, from colorful feathers tucked into his ponytail to the spots and stripes that adorned the fabric of his clothes. But they were just a mask to hide his scars. They didn't change what he'd become on the inside, a monster now swathed in rich colors and a dazzling display of patterns and textures, feathers and silk, hard beads and soft fabric.

Kefka Palazzo was a walking nightmare, a painted demon, whose colors did nothing to conceal the madness that lie within. They were the first thing people noticed when he walked into a room, and they were the last thing they saw when they died, his shrill laughter ringing in their ears as the world around them faded from a multitude of colors to an endless sea of black.


	2. Fire & Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be the only person on this site who has written a Kefka Christmas story. And with good reason. I'm not sure anyone wants to take something like Christmas and turn it into a nightmare the way Tim Burton would. But this is Kefka we're talking about. And I'm sure he could make the Grinch look like a harmless puppy.

Christmas was celebrated in Vector just like it was in other parts of the world. Although the festive display of lights and decorations were somewhat muted compared to other towns and cities, there was always some form of holiday decorations on display in Vector and the Imperial Palace.

Christmas trees could be found in the dining room, great hall and Emperor Gestahl's throne room. The soldiers wrapped red and silver tinsel around the railings on stairs and catwalks, and hung wreaths on the walls and doors. A few of them even had miniature Christmas trees in their rooms that were no more than a foot tall. They set them on their desk or in a corner in their room, and decorated them with everything from red ribbons and bows to tinsel, strings of popcorn, and small ornaments shaped like moogles.

Celes helped out by using her magic to coat the branches of the Christmas trees in a layer of powdery snow. The snow glistened and shined with iridescent hues as they caught the colors of the lights on the tree. She made ornaments for the trees out of ice, and as long as she cast Blizzard on the trees once a day the snow and ornaments wouldn't melt.

The only person who wasn't enjoying the holiday season was Kefka. It grated on his nerves, seeing everyone so happy and full of Christmas cheer. It didn't help that Celes was in the habit of singing Christmas carols every morning when she woke up. One day she made the mistake of singing in the hall outside her room, which woke Kefka up and sent him into a rage.

The mage's living quarters were in close proximity to the area of the palace assigned to General Celes. And although some would argue that five doors down and the corner was far enough away that the noise shouldn't bother him, Kefka still swore he could hear Celes every time she started singing, snoring or rolled over in bed. Kefka despised her, and resented the fact that she was able to maintain a certain level of mental stability while he had spent the last sixteen years slowly descending into madness.

When the sound of her singing drifted down the hall and entered the sleeping mage's bedchamber, Kefka was awake within a matter of minutes, his hands curling into fists as he gripped his pillow with both hands, burying his face in it and screaming at the top of his lungs. He then pulled on the corners of his pillow until it split open and feathers scattered across the room.

"Celes!" he shouted. "If I hear your annoying screech of a voice one more time, I will roast you alive and scatter your ashes to the four winds from the rooftop!"

"But Kefka, I only wanted to - " She was cut off in midsentence as another scream tore from his lungs. Moments later she heard his bedroom door open with a bang, hitting the steel wall behind it as Kefka appeared in his polka dot pajamas, a blazing ball of fire in his right hand.

Celes shrieked and ducked just in time as the fireball went sailing over her head, striking a wreath on the wall beside her and reducing it to a pile of ash.

"Get out!" Kefka shouted, already in the process of conjuring another fireball. "Get out of my sight right now!"

"Kefka, stop! What are you doing?"

"Silencing your wretched voice, woman!"

Shards of ice met with streams of fire as Celes was forced to defend herself from the crazed mage. Most of the ice melted when it made contact with Kefka's flames, but a few of the crystalized shards slipped past, slicing open his right cheek as their sharp edges made contact with his skin. It was enough to momentarily draw his attention away from her, his hand cupping his cheek as he felt a trickle of warm blood oozing from the gash on his face.

Celes began to slowly back away from him. She apologized for waking him up, but when the air around him began to undulate with rippling waves of intense heat, she knew it was the time to leave before Kefka lost it and tried frying her to a crisp.

Kefka watched her retreating form disappear down the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight, he turned his attention to the decorations that lined the halls. He began ripping them off the walls, screaming and setting fire to anything he couldn't destroy with his own two hands. He was positively howling with rage, blinded by such fury that he didn't even notice as Leo approached him from behind.

The General got behind him and pinned his hands behind his back, forcing the mage against the railing as he bent Kefka over the side of the catwalk. He knew it was foolish to try subduing Kefka while he was behaving like a rabid animal, and that there was always the chance that he could die if Kefka turned on him. But if he was going to die, Leo wanted to die protecting the people he cared about, even if it meant crumbling at the feet of a man who was nothing more than a science experiment gone horribly wrong.

Kefka struggled and fought, the heat radiating off him like a furnace as he twisted and yelled, making it difficult for the General to hold onto him. Celes returned a minute later, bringing with her half a dozen Imperial soldiers. She was ready to fight and help General Leo, but then suddenly the halls went silent as the mage slumped over the railing, his face framed with curtains of long, blond hair as he hung his head in silence.

Leo blinked and looked at him with an expression of stunned disbelief. What was Kefka playing at now? His screaming ended so abruptly it was jarring, leaving those around him feeling more unsettled than if he'd kept fighting them.

"Kefka?" Celes took a step forward, her hand on the railing as she cocked her head to the side, peering closely at him as he stood motionless against the railing. "Kefka, can you hear me?"

Silence. Not even a whisper or a tiny hint of movement. She began to wonder if he had fainted, losing consciousness like he used to during the early days of the experiments. In those days he was prone to seizures and fainting spells. And while the seizures had gradually faded with time, Kefka still experienced occasional black outs, and would wake up not knowing where he was or how he got there.

And then, just when it seemed like the silence would last forever, Kefka started laughing. At first it was so quiet that Celes wondered if she was hearing things. Surely the mage hadn't decided to break down into hysterical fits of laughter. But then his subtle chuckle grew in volume, his shoulders shaking as he started laughing harder, that wild, high pitched cackle causing the soldiers to back away as they nervously glanced at each other.

Leo released him and took a step back, his eyes wide as he stared at the cackling mage. He swore that no matter how long he knew him, he would never get used to Kefka's unique brand of insanity.

Kefka turned around, smiling broadly at them. "Oh, I get it," he said, his twisted grin spreading wide enough to practically split his face in two. "It's all about celebrating the spirit of the season, about joy and laughter! Right, Leo?"

Leo had just opened his mouth to respond when he was forcefully slammed against the wall, the mage laughing in his face as he stood nose to nose with the General. Celes got Kefka by the arm and pulled him off Leo, and this time he didn't resist.

"I'll show you that I can celebrate Christmas just like everyone else. Oh, and Leo," Kefka added, turning and heading back to his room. "Merry fucking Christmas."

\------------------

One day faded into the next. And while nearly everyone in the palace had hidden themselves away like the whole place was under sedge, Kefka showed no apparent signs of wanting to go on a murderous rampage through Vector. This created a sense of unease throughout the palace, with everyone on edge waiting for the moment he would strike.

Kefka knew what he was doing, manipulating people by using their fear to his advantage. It thrilled him to no end, watching these fools scatter like roaches the moment he entered the room. How could they celebrate Christmas with the threat of Kefka going off like a nuclear bomb hanging over their heads? The answer was that they couldn't. And knowing that they were miserable when they should be celebrating was enough to brighten Kefka's mood and make him want to sing.

He started bursting into song at random intervals throughout the day, singing his own variety of Christmas songs at the top of his lungs, most of which had some rather disturbing lyrics.

"Jingle bells,  
Down in hell,  
Time to burn and roast.  
You can trim the Christmas tree while turning into toast.  
Jingle bells,  
Down in hell,  
The mistletoe has thorns.  
Watch your ass or get impaled on Santa Claus' horns!"

Leo sighed, looking over at Emperor Gestahl as Kefka let fly with his rendition of Jingle Bells for the fourth time that morning. "And you're just going to let him keeping singing?"

"Come now, Christophe. It's not the worst thing he could be doing right now," the Emperor replied, wincing as Kefka's high pitched voice pierced his ears.

Gestahl always had some excuse to let Kefka run wild and do as he pleased. It were as though being mentally incapacitated gave him free reign throughout Vector. And although Leo hated to admit it, the Emperor had a point. He'd rather listen to Kefka's atrocious singing than the dying screams of soldiers that had been slaughtered during one of the mage's violent outbursts.

\----------------

When Christmas Eve rolled around, Kefka waited until everyone had gone to sleep before putting his plan into action. He'd been waiting weeks for this moment to arrive. And now that the time was right, he would give everyone a Christmas they'd never forget.

He removed the decorations that had been hung up throughout the palace, replacing them with something he deemed more appropriate. The colored lights were replaced with black lights, and the wreaths were replaced with garlands of dead holly that had long since withered and decayed, until every inch of the palace was covered in wilted plants and black, ominous lights. He then took all the festive decorations into the throne room, where he heaped them into a pile on the center of the floor. A blazing ball of fire sprang to life in the palm of his hand, and he hurled it at the pile of decorations, laughing as he watched them go up in flames.

Kefka danced around the flames, his high pitched whooping cackle filling the halls with the sound of his deranged laughter.

"Yes, yes! Destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy! I'll burn everything to the ground. And by the time I'm done, there'll be nothing left to celebrate!"

He spun around when a faint glimmer of light caught his eye, and noticed the ice ornaments Celes had hung on the Christmas tree. There were dozens of beautifully crafted ornaments shaped like animals and Espers, each one shimmering like opals in the firelight.

Kefka walked over to the tree and plucked a miniature Esper off the snow covered branches, turning it over in his hands as he examined the intricate details that covered every inch of the tiny phoenix. Each and every feather stood out in stunning, realistic detail as it spread its wings, its beak open wide as though it were singing a silent song to the heavens.

The phoenix. Its legendary immortality, its magnificent song that was unlike anything else on earth, a song that had touched the hearts of others for centuries, captivating them with its beauty. But Kefka saw things differently. He didn't hear a timeless song of beauty. He heard a voice, screaming like the other voices inside his head. Their ceaseless cries had driven him mad. And as he held the frozen Esper, his hands began to shake as the magic that flowed within his veins came alive, surging through him as his heart pounded hard against his ribs.

He looked at the other Esper-shaped ornaments on the tree, and heard their voices laughing at him. They were mocking him, dancing in the firelight as they dangled from golden threads. And worst of all was that they had been created by someone who didn't hear their voices, who didn't have to listen to their tormented cries night and day.

Kefka threw the tiny phoenix into the fire, hoping to silence its cries as the voices in his head started screaming, a multitude of voices rising up from the blackest recesses of his mind, consuming him as their calls summoned a fire from within. Heripped the ornaments off the tree, breaking branches and destroying everything Celes had worked so hard to create. How could she do this to him? How could she leave reminders of everything he'd been through right under his nose for them to laugh at him?

The laughter was getting louder. Kefka doubled over, clutching his head as his ears rang with the sound of their cruel voices.

"She's better than you..."

"She's never heard us speak..."

"She won't hear you scream..."

"Kill them. Kill them all. Kill...kill...kill...KILL!"

"Damn you, Celes..." Kefka snarled, falling to his hands and knees on the floor, breathless as the ancient flames of deceased Espers ran wild in his veins, making his blood boil as cold sweat dripped from his brow. His muscles twitched and his body ached, every nerve and fiber of his body screaming right along with the voices in his mind. He lifted his head, staring into the dazzling flames, watching them leap and dance, sending golden embers skyward through blackened clouds of smoke. There were voices in the flames too, howls and whispers, calling to him, speaking to him from within the heart of the fire.

These were the souls of Espers that had been trapped in the flames, longing for release. He saw them writhing in the fire, felt them twisting in his mind, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames as he stood mesmerized by the rippling waves of dancing heat. They didn't realize that when he screamed the voice they heard was not his own, that he felt he must scream or else he would surely die, the Espers' burning claws tearing at his throat, fueling the madness and destruction. For this magic was not his own, these words, this rage, none of this was who he used to be. He had been changed into something else. He had been reborn, remade in the image of legendary creatures that weren't meant to be tamed by the hands of man.

He gasped, blinking as the images in the flames began to fade. For a moment he forgot where he was, his body trembling as he collapsed to the floor, gasping and groaning as he struggled to remember how he got there. His thoughts slowly began to clear. He rolled over onto his side, his gaze drifting towards the wrapped packages beneath the Christmas tree. They were just sitting there, waiting to be added to the fire.

Kefka stood up, the corners of his lips turning upwards as his familiar smile returned. "Yes, you will do nicely, I think. Just a little something to add to my holiday bonfire. Pity I forgot to bring some marshmallows. I could have had a nice Christmas roast while watching everyone's gifts go up in flames."

He picked up one of the packages and tossed it onto the fire, followed by another and another. These were gifts for the soldiers from home that their families had sent them. There was also a small assortment of gifts from Leo, Terra and Celes, for the Generals and the half-Esper girl liked to exchange gifts during the holidays. Kefka was just about to throw another package onto the fire when he saw a box with Leo's name on it, and suddenly he had an idea.

He left the fire to burn itself out on the floor, knowing that it was in a place where it wouldn't spread due to the floor being made of steel. He suddenly regretted not starting the fire next to the velvet curtains where it could have done more damage. But no matter. It was too late for that now, and he had a gift to deliver.

The mage ran upstairs, heading towards General Leo's bedroom. When he reached his destination, he threw open the door and leapt on the bed, startling the General as he woke him up out of a sound sleep.

Leo screamed and sat bolt upright in bed. There was Kefka, singing one of his horrid Christmas songs and dancing on the foot of the bed. And as if that wasn't enough, the mage was wearing a red and green cloak that matched the feathers in his hair. He had bells on his ankles, and the red and white stripes on his clothes made him look like an oversized candy cane.

"I must be seeing things," said Leo, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "This can't be happening."

And yet it was. Kefka took a deep breath, and began the second half of his song.

"Wake up,  
It's Christmas mourn.  
Those loved have long since gone.  
Six feet beneath me sleep.  
Black lights hang from the tree.  
Accents of dead holly.  
Goddamn ye merry gentlemen."

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Leo, interrupting Kefka's twisted Christmas song.

"I came to wish you a merry Christmas," said Kefka, grinning as he held up a colorful package with Leo's name on it. "I believe this is yours. Looks rather nice, doesn't it?" He gave the package a shake, holding it up to his ear as he listened to the contents rattling around inside. "I think I'd better open it to see what's inside."

"Give it here, Kefka!" Leo grabbed for the package in Kefka's hands, only to have the mage slip past him and go bounding across the room.

Kefka tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a box of assorted chocolates. "I wonder who sent this to you," he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked back at Leo. "You never know, Leo. Someone could try to poison you with this."

"You mean like you did last Christmas?"

"Precisely." Kefka nodded, his ridiculous feathers bobbing. "I wouldn't want you to die before I have the opportunity to kill you. So I'd better eat a couple of these to make sure they're safe." He then ran from the room, laughing as Leo threw the covers off and chased after him.

He ran downstairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door in Leo's face before the General could catch up to him. His back against the door, Kefka opened the lid on the box of chocolates, laughing as he listened to Leo pounding on the door with his fist and demanding that he open the door right now.

The mage poked one of the chocolates with his fingertip, watching as it squished and oozed a pink, syrupy liquid into the box, then brought his fingers to his mouth and licked the syrup off.

"Ooh, cherry!" Kefka said with a smile. He popped the piece of candy in his mouth, then resumed poking and squishing the chocolates. He continued the process of tasting and poking until he'd eaten all the candy he wanted, leaving Leo with the leftovers he'd squashed and spit out once he discovered that they weren't to his liking.

"Here," he said, opening the door and handing Leo the box of half-eaten candy. "You can have these. I don't like coconut, or those ones with the jelly in the middle. But I thank you for being so kind and giving me such a wonderful gift. Oh, and before I forget, you may want to see to the fire in the throne room."

Leo's eyes widened, his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach. Those gifts were from the wives and children whose husbands and fathers were serving in the military. The soldiers had been looking forward to the cards, letters, pictures and presents their families sent them at Christmas. Had Kefka really gone so far as to destroy the few items they received from their families? It was all they had to lift their spirits when they were so far away from home during the holidays.

"Have a merry Christmas, Leo!" Kefka called out as the General turned and bolted down the stairs. "I look forward to celebrating the holidays with you next year."


	3. Dark Artist

They couldn't see the beauty of it, the intricate shapes and patterns, the voices screaming from within the images on the wall. He could still hear them, each dying breath and pained whisper. When Kefka touched the crimson fluid, when its coppery scent invaded his nostrils, he swore that he could still hear them, their ghosts speaking to him from with the designs he'd painted on the walls.

A twisted grin creased the corners of his mouth, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. There was blood dripping down the walls. He loved the way it pooled at his feet, forming patterns and designs on the floor. It was art. Why couldn't they see that? Why didn't they understand?

He discovered this passion, this obsession if you will, years ago during the experiments that tore the very fabric of sanity from his mind. He didn't remember how it happened. All he knew was that one day they found him in room, sitting on the floor next to the body of a soldier who had had his throat cut open. Kefka dipped his fingers in the blood, and was using it to draw on the walls, just like a child coloring on the walls with crayons.

Ever since then he developed an "appreciation for fine art", as he called it. It wasn't unusual for him to paint the walls with gallons of blood, the crimson fluid drenching every corner of the room as he screamed and threw more "paint" on his canvas. He would lose himself in his rage, in his art, writing obscenities in blood, smearing streaks of bright red fluid across the walls with his hands.

Although the behavior was disturbing, they soon learned that it was a good outlet for his anger. And as long as Emperor Gestahl's precious mage was happy, that was all that mattered. It didn't matter that Kefka used hair pulled from his victim's head as paintbrushes, or that he had ripped the hair from their scalp while they were still alive, screaming as they felt his fingernails embedded in their flesh. If that was too much of a hastle he would simply decapitate them. Because when their severed heads rolled across the floor, that too made a beautiful pattern that he couldn't help but admire.

There was beauty in death. Kefka was the only one who could see it. Their screams were like music to his ears, their blood his paint, and the world was his canvas.


	4. Plague Angel part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was, quite literally, inspired by a plot bunny that came to me after an encounter with Campingway in FFIV. The rabbit may have taken my tents, but he paid me with inspiration.
> 
> I'd also like to dedicate this story to DuckofIndeed, who writes some of the best FF stories I have ever read.

He was not indestructible. He was just a mortal man, a man whose voice summoned thunder from the heavens and sent lighting racing across the skies. Kefka came alive amid the storm, amongst the chaos and raging winds. Anyone who saw him when his fury lit the sky knew that death was imminent. It followed him wherever he went. And it was enough to frighten people into believing that he was something more, more than a man who served an empire that was growing in strength and number with each passing day. For beneath his painted face lies the heart of a monster, of a beast that refused to be tamed.

Wind rippled the multicolored fabric draped about his shoulders, tugging on the feathers he'd tucked into his ponytail. He could feel the vibrations in the earth as thunder exploded overhead, the driving energy of the storm pulsing in his veins.

Kefka threw his head back, laughing as he raised his hands towards the skies, and lightning rained down upon the inhabitants of Albrook as they ran screaming through the streets. This storm was his own, fueled by madness and driven by the magic coursing through his blood. His voice mingled with the roar of thunder, laughing insanely as another helpless victim was struck dead by a bolt of lightning.

"Excellent night for a game of tag!" Kefka called out into the rising winds. He spun around and aimed a bolt of lighting at a young man who was fleeing from his burning house with his wife and two small children in tow. "Tag! You're it!"

There was a flash of blinding light, and the man fell to the ground dead.

Kefka laughed gleefully, clapping his hands as he whooped and hollered, prancing on the spot like a drunken moogle.

It wasn't long until the town was awash in flames, the lightning sparked fires leaping from building to building, as the night came alive with dancing flames that lit the skies for miles around. Smoke billowed from the rooftops, choking anyone who couldn't make it out in time. This thrilled Kefka to no end, and as he continued his mad dance on the hilltop, the skies opened up and a deluge of rain began pouring from the blackened clouds above.

When he returned to the empire later that night, Kefka was soaking wet and shivering, but grinning from ear to ear as he threw the place doors open wide and marched in like he owned the place.

"Albrook has fallen!" he announced as he ran into the room. "Every last building has been burned to the ground. They surrendered themselves to the empire and - " He broke off in midsentence as a loud, wet sneeze sent several of his brightly colored feathers flying in every direction.

General Leo raised an eyebrow, watching as the mage blew his nose on the hem of his cloak. He was reminded of an exploding chicken as Kefka's wet feathers scattered across the floor.

"You should have been there, Leo," said Kefka, a wide grin on his face as he wrung his cloak out, splattering the floor with rainwater. "You should have seen the carnage, the destruction! Flesh melting in the heat, dripping from the bone as those poor fools were burned alive. I swear you could smell that shit sizzling for miles."

"If you are finished, Kefka, you ought to go dry yourself off and take a hot bath," Leo suggested, frowning with disgust at the description of the burned bodies. He didn't fancy the thought of standing there half the night listening to Kefka going on about the smell of burning corpses.

The mage stiffened, raising himself up to his full height as his painted lips formed a straight line across his face.

"You know what your problem is?" he said, taking a step forward and poking Leo in the chest with a long, slender finger. "You don't appreciate me or the work I do. I go through all the trouble of bringing a town to its knees, and this is the thanks I get?"

Trouble? That was the most absurd thing Leo had ever heard him say, and he'd heard a lot of off the wall nonsense from Kefka over the years. He knew the mage enjoyed his work (probably a little too much if you asked him), and that Kefka never once complained about being given the opportunity to wipe out an entire town. To him it was a source of entertainment, a chance to see people bend to his will or die at his feet. Work indeed. It was more like sending the Emperor's manchild to spend the day at an amusement park.

"Kefka, please," said Leo, looking down at the small man who was glaring him with his hands on his hips. Leo knew this wasn't a good sign, given Kefka's violent temper and his habit of launching into profanity laced fits of rage. "I'm sure the Emperor appreciates the work you do, despite your rather unorthodox methods."

"Unorthodox? Gestahl is the reason why I'm capable of using magic in the first place! So if you have a problem with this," Kefka paused, conjuring a ball of fire in his right hand, "then I suggest you take it up with him. Or do I have to deal with the problem myself?"

"There isn't a problem," Leo insisted. "And would you please get that thing out of my face before you singe my eyebrows off?"

"I'd singe your balls off if you had any." Kefka made a fist with his right hand, snuffing out the fire as his fingers closed around the flames. He then turned on heel and marched out of the room, leaving behind a trail of soggy feathers and muddy footprints on the carpet.

\-------------------------

Kefka was still shivering as he entered the bathroom and began taking off his clothes. He peeled off the many layers of striped and polka dotted fabric, letting it pool at his feet before kicking his boots off and opening the bathroom door. He flung his wet clothes in the face of an imperial soldier that was standing in the hall, then promptly slammed the door in his face.

"I want those washed and dried by morning," he hollered at the soldier through the bathroom door. "And don't use too much starch. It makes me itchy."

The soldier quickly scurried off down the hall with Kefka's wet clothes. Nearly everyone in the palace was terrified of the crazed magician, and no one wanted to incur his wrath by disobeying his orders.

Kefka turned the hot water off and slowly lowered himself into the bathtub, wincing and exhaling as his body adjusted to the temperature of the water. The wind and rain had left him chilled to the bone, and after several minutes of soaking in the tub he still hadn't warmed up. He was fed up with shivering and being cold, so he decided to use his magic to heat the water to near scalding temperatures. Steam rose from the surface of the bathwater, and a content smile spread across his face as he sighed and leaned back in the tub, relaxing as he felt the heat spread throughout his aching body and tired muscles.

Although he wouldn't admit it, Kefka had been feeling off ever since he got out of bed that morning. He was exhausted, his strength ebbing low before he even reached Albrook, and spending four hours outside in the rain didn't help. He blamed his fatigue on the excessive amounts of magic he'd been using lately, and called for one of his soldiers to bring him a glass of wine with a few spoonfuls of elixir added to it to help restore his flagging energy levels.

'I'll be fine after a decent night's rest,' he thought, raising the glass of wine to his lips and taking a sip.

\--------------------

The skies over the Imperial Palace were a pale shade of dusky rose, orange and midnight blue as the sun began its ascent into the sky. Thin clouds skirted across the skies, driven by a cool autmun breeze as the inhabitants of the palace woke up and began their morning.

They went about their daily routine, not noticing the absence of a certain mage who was usually awake at the crack of dawn, ranting about one thing or another while seeing how many death threats he could get in before breakfast. And while most of the people were content to go about their day without listening to Kefka's ceaseless rants, Leo was bothered by the silence that had settled over the palace that morning.

Kefka was never this quiet. Not unless he was scheming about something, or when his rage was silently building like a volcano that would erupt and take out half of Vector in the blink of an eye.

When Leo asked if anyone had seen Kefka that morning, they just shook their heads and told him to let it be, because they were tired of listening to his insane laughter and constant screaming. But Leo couldn't let it go. He knew how Kefka was. And in the interest of preventing the apocalypse, he decided to look for the missing mage and find him before Kefka blew a fuse and took out the north wing of the palace again.

He found the mage on the third floor of the palace, moving slowly along the metal catwalk. He was bent over slightly, with one hand clutching the railing and his other hand holding his stomach. It was clear that Kefka wasn't his usual loud, obnoxious self as he crept along the catwalk and started down the stairs. Even the feathers in his ponytail appeared to have wilted, and were sagging limply on either side of his head.

When Leo approached him on the stairs, the mage walked past without so much as a word or a glance in his direction.

"Kefka," Leo called out. "Where have you been all morning? I haven't seen you at all today. Is everything alright?"

It was a stupid question and Leo knew it. Kefka hadn't been alright for the last sixteen years. Asking him if everything was alright was like asking a dying man if he was fit enough to run a marathon.

Kefka paused, turning to glance over his shoulder at the General. "As if that's any of your business," he snapped. "I didn't know I was going to be interrogated the moment I set foot outside my room this morning."

Against his better judgment, Leo followed him down the stairs, walking alongside Kefka as he made his way out into the hall.

"It is my business, Kefka. You're one of the most valuable members of the empire. If something is bothering you - " His words were cut short when Kefka suddenly screamed and launched himself at the General, shoving him against the railing and pinning his back against the cold metal bars. He had a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and for a moment Leo thought he was going to throw him over the railing as Kefka's hands gripped the collar of his coat.

"Valuable?" Kefka snarled, glaring daggers of pure hate at the General. "That's not how it sounded last night when you practically threw me out of the great hall!"

"What are you talking about? I did no such thing, Kefka."

"Yes, you did. I was telling you of my success in Albrook, when you dismissed me and suggested that I leave at once."

Leo glanced over the railing at the thirty foot drop beneath the catwalk. He swallowed hard and looked back at the mage. He had to get control of the situation before Kefka lost it and sent him flying over the edge of the railing.

"I did not dismiss you," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words so as not to upset him. "I was simply acknowledging the fact that you had worked hard to serve the empire, and that after a hard day's work you deserved some time to yourself to relax and unwind."

Kefka hesitated before taking a step back and letting him go. "Somehow I doubt that. You've never approved of my 'unorthodox methods', as you put it."

"While our morals may clash at times, we both do our best to serve the empire. We are grateful for your services, Kefka. Do not forget that."

Kefka laughed, his cloak swishing about his ankles as he turned and continued on his way. "You ought to be grateful that I don't kill you where you stand! And if I ever hear one word out of you that makes me feel underappreciated, I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs."

Leo sighed, shaking his head as he watched him walk away. Never in his entire life had he met a man like Kefka, a man who tested his patience and pushed him to the very limits of his endurance.

"Kefka," he called out one last time. "There will be a meeting in the great hall at eleven o' clock this morning. The Emperor has requested your presence during the meeting. He wishes to discuss the possibility of sending you to Tzen after your success in Albrook."

\--------------------------

The clock on the wall said it was twenty minutes past eleven, and Kefka had yet to show up for the meeting. It wasn't unusual for the mage to waltz into meetings whenever he felt like it, or join meetings when he was uninvited and had no business being there. But for him to arrive late when there was the possibility that he'd be allowed to go on another killing spree, that was very unusual.

Leo sighed and leaned back in his chair. Something was wrong. The fact that Kefka hadn't been rampaging through the palace the moment he set foot out of bed meant that something wasn't right, and it made him nervous, wondering what could the matter be and why Kefka wasn't acting like himself.

Finally the door opened and Kefka walked in. "Miss me, darling?" he said, smiling and batting his eyelashes at the people seated around the table.

A soldier sitting next to Leo groaned, then leaned sideways in his seat and whispered in the General's ear, "You said he over slept this morning. Why did you have to disturb him?"

"Kefka's already disturbed," Leo muttered. He leaned forward in his seat, watching the mage as he pulled out a chair, put his feet up on the table, and leaned back in his seat.

"So, I hear you decided to hold a meeting to discuss me," Kefka said importantly, causing a few of the people in the room to roll their eyes.

The Emperor began to speak, going over recent events in Albrook and discussing the growing resistance in Tzen.

"I think it would be best to send someone to investigate the situation, and to see whether or not they can be made to side with us. Palazzo, that's where you come in. I believe you have what it takes to show them that resistance is futile."

"And if they still resist?" Kefka asked, the tip of his painted thumbnail between his teeth as he waited for a response.

"Eliminate them."

Leo pushed his chair out and stood up, his hands on the table as he began protesting the Emperor's decision. Kefka meanwhile had burst into spontaneous laughter, his mad, cackling laugh forcing the General to raise his voice in order to be heard over the insane mage.

"Emperor Gestahl, with all due respect, sir, don't you think I would be better suited for the job? If peaceful negotiation is necessary in order to get them to side with us, shouldn't I be the one to speak with them?"

"Are you questioning my decision, Cristophe?"

"No, sir. It's just that - " Leo broke off in midsentence as the mage started coughing.

Heads turned as Kefka doubled over in his seat, coughing so hard he could scarcely breathe. Leo offered him a glass of water, which the mage quickly guzzled then took a deep breath, shivering as he slumped back in his seat.

"What the hell are you staring at?" Kefka shouted, sounding slightly hoarse as he coughed again and cleared his throat. He reached up and adjusted the feathers in his ponytail, tucking a blue feather back in place that had begun to slip out of his hair. It was then that Leo noticed the glazed look in his eyes.

'Is he getting sick?' thought Leo. He knew that if Kefka fell ill it would put the Emperor's plans on hold, giving him the chance to change Gestahl's mind about letting the mage handle the situation in Tzen.

"I understand your concerns," said Emperor Gestahl. "But the time for talk is over. I have made my decision, and I believe it is in the empire's best interest to let Palazzo handle the situation."

Kefka looked at Leo and grinned, relishing the dejected expression on his face as the General sank back down in his chair. He loved it when Leo's plans were thwarted, his hopes dashed before they even had a chance to come to fruition. He told him that hopes, dreams and life itself was worthless, that none of it mattered because everything would surely perish in the end. Perhaps now Leo would see that his attempts at preserving the lives of others was, at best, a useless struggle that wasn't worth undertaking.

The smile widened on Kefka's face as he scooted his chair out from the table, one hand on the back of his chair as he turned sideways so he was facing the General. "Looks like you were right, Leo. There really are people here who appreciate my talents. A shame I can't count you as one of them."

Kefka covered his mouth with his hand as he felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him. There was a brief pause, and before Leo had time to register what was happening, Kefka pitched forward and expelled the contents of his stomach in his lap, covering the General in everything he'd had for breakfast that morning.

"Palazzo!" Gestahl exclaimed as Leo practically flew out of his chair, the remainder of Kefka's breakfast splattering the carpet beside the table.

Kefka groaned, his arm wrapped around his waist as he clung to the table with his other hand. "You see what you did to me?" he said, looking up at General Leo as he spoke. "You make me sick. All that nonsense about wanting to preserve such meaningless lives, about the hopes and dreams of others... It's sickening. You hear me, Leo? You made me sick!"

Leo could only stand there staring at him in disbelief as Kefka went into another coughing fit. As disgusted as he was with Kefka's words and actions, he knew that hope wasn't lost, that there was still a chance to save the people of Tzen now that the Emperor's prized mage had fallen ill. He knew he couldn't convince Kefka that their lives were worth saving. But perhaps he could make Gestahl see the value of their lives and talk him out of sending Kefka to Tzen.


	5. Plague Angel part 2

Kefka hated being fussed over when he was ill. He also hated being poked and prodded by doctors, and being confined to a hospital where he lost the freedom to do as he pleased. He'd had enough tests and experiments to last him a lifetime, and went to great lengths to hide his illness from others. Therefore when it was discovered that Kefka was ill after he'd made a show of vomiting on Leo, the mage quickly launched into one of his usual fits when they attempted to escort him to the infirmary. This resulted in several burns in the carpet, as well the curtains in the meeting room being reduced to a pile of blackened cinders. But after several minutes of screaming, cussing, death threats and fire, they finally managed to haul Kefka to the hospital.

General Leo, who was now dressed in a clean set of clothes, stood outside in the waiting room. Every now and then he could hear Kefka screaming in the office down the hall, his words broken by fits of coughing. He was certain the mage had thrown up on him on purpose, because even when he was sick Kefka never missed an opportunity to download on the unsuspecting General. Though he supposed he should consider himself lucky, because he honestly wouldn't be surprised if the man could expel flaming vomit like a dragon with food poisoning.

After several minutes had passed, the doctor emerged from his office with the sleeves of his coat burned off. He told Leo that Kefka was sick with the flu, and that he needed a couple days to rest and recover from his illness.

"Can I see him now?" asked Leo.

"Yes, you can see him," the doctor said. "But he's in a foul mood, and I doubt that he'll take kindly to visitors."

When Leo walked in he saw Kefka sitting on the exam table, shivering and muttering obscenities under his breath. He cautiously approached the table, and asked Kefka how he was feeling.

"How do you think?" Kefka snapped. "I feel like shit, Leo. Thanks for asking."

"So I take it you wouldn't be interested in receiving a get well soon card and some flowers?"

"That depends." Kefka sniffed and wiped his runny nose on the back of his hand. "What sort of flowers do you want me to put on your grave?"

The General sighed and rolled his eyes. "Why do you try hiding it from everyone when you're ill? You're not some all powerful god of magic - "

"Not yet, I'm not."

" - and you shouldn't be out and about when you're sick and in need of rest."

"Yes, yes, I know. Blah blah blah, stop running around and killing people," Kefka said in a mocking tone. He sniffed and blew his nose on one of his silk scarves. "If we are finished here, Leo, I'd like to leave now. Or is there some other thrilling lecture you'd like to enlighten me with before I go?"

"You know you can't go to Tzen with the shape you're in," Leo reminded him. "You'll have to wait until you're well again before you can leave."

Kefka shivered and pulled the layers of multicolored fabric around him in an attempt to stay warm. He slipped off the table and onto his feet. "Really?" he said, looking up at the General. "Then I suppose I'll have to find some other way to entertain myself."

Leo wasn't pleased with the thought of Kefka finding some other way to keep himself occupied. Even when he was ill, Kefka could always find some way to annoy and harass people. The mage delighted in making himself at home anywhere he wanted in the palace, sleeping on couches and in other people's beds as he attempted to infect as many people as he could. You could always tell where he had been because a trail of soggy tissues followed him throughout the palace. But if the worst Kefka could do was make people sick, then Leo ought to consider himself lucky. He'd rather clean up a trail of tissues than a trail of dead bodies.

While Kefka went to his room to collapse in bed for a few hours, Leo went to the Emperor's throne room to see if he could talk Gestahl out of sending Kefka to Tzen. However the Emperor was more concerned about his precious mage than listening to Leo's offer to go to Tzen in his place.

"What did the doctor say?" asked Gestahl. "Is he fit enough to travel to Tzen?"

"No, sir." Leo shook his head. "I'm afraid he is quite ill. He has a bad case of the flu, and he will not be well enough to travel for several days."

The Emperor stroked his beard thoughtfully, frowning as he pondered the situation. He wanted to take immediate action, knowing that he would have a greater chance of success while news of the destruction of Albrook was still fresh in people's minds. Their terror would gradually begin to fade with time, and it was best to strike now while the iron was still hot. However with Kefka out of commission there was little he could do but wait for the mage to recover.

"Your Majesty," said Leo, interrupting the Emperor's thoughts. "I assure you that if you were to send me to Tzen, I could handle the situation just as quickly and efficiently as Kefka would, but with far less destruction and loss of life. I know how to talk to these people. Please, sir. Let me go to Tzen. I will not fail you. You have my word, your Majesty."

Gestahl thought about it for a moment before turning down Leo's request. It was then that they heard the sound of clapping, and noticed Kefka in his pajamas standing in the hall.

The mage chuckled as he approached the General, his laugher somewhat subdued due to the amount of congestion in his chest. "Bravo, Leo. You certainly showed him who's boss. I guess you'll be heading out first thing tomorrow morning."

Leo was surprised to see the mage without a single drop of makeup on his face, his feathers gone and his blond hair hanging in limp, loose strands about his face and shoulders. He was wearing a pair of midnight blue flannel pajamas that was covered with red, orange, pink and light blue polka dots, with one red sock on his left foot and a black sock on his right foot.

"I thought you were going to bed," said Leo, taking a step back as the mage stood beside him. He'd already been vomited on once that morning, and had no desire to become Kefka's personal barf bag twice in one day.

"And miss this spectacular display of tactical negotiations?" said Kefka, motioning with a hand towards the Emperor. "Damn, Leo. If this is how you are with negotiations, then it's no wonder he doesn't want to send you anywhere."

Leo was silent as he studied the flushed features of Kefka's face. "Kefka," he said, not paying attention to the mage's rant on how he supposedly lacked proper negotiation skills. "Hold still for a minute."

Kefka ducked and quickly moved away from Leo as he attempted to feel his forehand. "Keep your filthy hands off me!" he shrieked. "I don't want you fondling me, Leo. Who knows what kind of cooties you've got while you're pawing all over me."

"Did the doctor say what your temperature is?" Leo asked.

The mage had gone into another coughing fit, and it took him a minute or two before he could speak. "It's one hundred and two," he wheezed. "Why?"

"That's awfully high, Kefka."

"Yes, well, my temperature usually runs a few degrees higher than normal anyway," said Kefka, waving off Leo's concern. "That's what happens when you're force fed pureed essence of Esper through an IV for forty-six hours. Now if you're finished making an ass out of yourself, I'm going back to bed." He then turned and headed out the door, pausing to blow his nose then toss the soiled tissue over his shoulder at Leo.

\-------------------

As the late hours of the afternoon slowly passed, Kefka went from feeling achy and congested to feeling down right hot and miserable. He tried laying down and going to sleep, but he was too hot with his blanket and too cold without it. He tossed and turned, his nose running and his eyes watering. He considered asking Celes to cast Sleep on him so he could get some rest. But it would be a cold day in hell when he went to her for anything. He finally fell asleep sometime during the late hours of the evening, only to wake up an hour later with a splitting headache.

Kefka sat up in bed, his head in his hands with his knees drawn up to his chest. Something was wrong. He was shaking violently, with sweat pouring from every inch of his body. He started rocking back and forth, moaning and muttering to himself in the darkness of his room.

The voices in his head were growing louder, changing from hushed whispers to echoing laughter. He lowered his trembling hands, his eyes searching the darkened room as he tried to find where the voices were coming from. He caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows. It was something small with long ears, creeping along the wall and hiding behind the desk. The mage got on his hands and knees, crawling across the bed for a closer look at whatever it was that was sneaking around his bedroom, and a furry animal poked its head out from behind the desk.

Rabbits. His room was full of them. Rabbits dressed in turbans and hooded cloaks, all humming and chattering, laughing and singing. One of them was going on about wanting to change his name, another was saying something about pudding, while others rambled on about making maps and houses on the moon.

The voices and humming were getting louder as the rabbits surrounded his bed. Kefka screamed and shot out of bed, the rabbits closing in on him as he yanked open his bedroom door and ran down the hall. General Leo was on his way to his room to retire for the evening, when he was hit with a bundle of polka dot fabric and knocked clean off his feet. It took him a moment to realize that it was Kefka who had run into him.

The mage was rambling on about his bedroom being invaded by rabbits. When Leo heard this, he began to worry that Kefka had lost what little sanity he had left. He tried sitting up while simultaneously pushing Kefka off onto the floor. But the mage had a death grip on the General, his painted fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"Kefka, what is the matter with you? Let go of me!"

"Rabbits, Leo!" said Kefka, his eyes wide as he clung to the General, still shivering and shaking with feverish chills. "I woke up and my bedroom was full of them. Little white rabbits with red hoods, humming and talking about maps and pudding. I can't go back there, Leo. I can't! Too many rabbits. Rabbits, I tell you, Leo! Rabbits! Rabbits everywhere!"

"Yes, Kefka, I know," Leo said sympathetically, patting the mage's shoulder. He wasn't getting paid enough to do this. And no where in the job description did it say anything about babysitting psychotic magicians who thought their bedroom had been taken over by rabbits.

He decided to take Kefka to the infirmary to have him looked at, and for once in his life Kefka didn't fight him. The doctors examined him and determined that he was delirious from fever. His illness combined with the magic in his blood had caused his fever to spike, rising to 103° in a short period of time. It was enough to send him into a delirium, and warrant an overnight stay at the hospital as they tried using ice packs to cool him off. But try as they might they couldn't lower his temperature. Kefka didn't even feel the ice against his skin. All he could feel was intense heat burning in his chest that spread throughout the rest of his body, making him feel as though his skin was on fire.

He became restless and agitated, muttering nonsense and spouting random curses at the people in his room. "Leo," he moaned, turning his head and looking the man standing beside his bed. "I think I'm dying. Those rabbits must have poisoned me." His words trailed off as sleep found him at last, his tired body succumbing to fever and exhaustion.

Leo sighed and sat down in a chair beside the bed. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Kefka, for nearly every aspect of both his physical and mental health had been effected by the experiments they'd performed on him. The man couldn't even have a simple case of the flu without it becoming a major crisis. And yet underneath that garish attire and clownish makeup was the remnants of human being, a man just like any other before the empire molded and shaped him into the monster he'd become. Leo could see it now that his makeup had been removed, and he was sleeping soundly instead of running wild through the palace, threatening to annihilate everyone in sight.

The General leaned back in his seat, watching as Kefka slept. He tensed when the mage started coughing, then went back to sleep after a minute or two of gasping and wheezing. Leo released a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, and nervously glanced at the read out on the monitor before settling himself more comfortably in his seat. Kefka had that effect on people. If you spent enough time around him, it wasn't long until you were constantly on edge, always wary and waiting for him to explode on the next person that walked past, not knowing if the next time you faced him would be your last.

But even he was only human. And lying there in bed like that, with wires and tubes taped to various parts of his body, he began to appear more human, more vulnerable than when he was screaming and hurling fireballs at people in the streets. This was the other side of Kefka Palazzo, of a man broken by the empire in their quest to create the perfect magic infused warrior.

"So this is why you hate being in the hospital," said Leo, speaking more to himself than the sleeping mage in front of him. He leaned forward in his chair, examining the burn scars on Kefka's right hand. An IV was taped to the back of his hand, with blue wires running under his pajama top that connected him to a monitor on the table beside his bed. For a moment Leo wondered if all this was really necessary. But then he remembered that it was Kefka they were dealing with, and one could never be too careful when it came to the Emperor's prized mage.

He reached over the railing on the bed, his curiosity compelling him to make contact with the ailing mage to see just how bad his condition really was. Surely it wasn't as bad as it looked. But when he touched the back of his hand to Kefka's cheek, he immediately jerked his hand away, feeling as though he had been burned. The monitor said Kefka's temperature was 103°, but the magic in his blood made him feel hotter than he really was. Even now as Leo watched from his chair beside the bed, he could see the ice pack they'd placed on Kefka's forehead melting before his very eyes.

\-------------------

When the sun rose the next morning, Kefka was still in the hospital. His temperature had gone down a degree from last night, but he was still sick and needed to be carefully monitored. Meanwhile Leo had returned to the Emperor's side. And although he hadn't tried convincing him that he should go to Tzen in Kefka's place, it was clear that the General was trying to make a good impression. He was quick to obey and follow commands, and went out of his way to wait on him hand and foot, thinking that maybe the Emperor would change his mind about letting him go to Tzen if he was in a better mood.

Gestahl was like Kefka in that the more you poked him, the more irritable he became. You couldn't win him over by constantly pestering him, and were more likely to succeed in your endeavors if you smothered him with kindness and praise. Leo typically behaved this way on a daily basis, following commands without question and doing whatever was necessary to keep the Emperor happy. But today he was trying especially hard to win over the stubborn Emperor, hoping that his efforts would be rewarded if he kept on Gestahl's good side.

However his hopes began to fade when halfway through the day Gestahl turned to him and said, "Do you think I don't know what you are doing, Christophe? I'm well aware of how much you want to go to Tzen. But what we need is someone who is willing to take action, rather than making negotiations that could be drawn out for days or weeks at a time while they build their resistance against us."

"But sir, if you allow me to go to Tzen, I would inform them that if they willingly surrendered to empire, they could avoid the sort of tragedy that befell Albrook. Right now nothing is being done, sir. And if I were there, we could begin the process of claiming the city, keeping Kefka in reserve should they fail to side with us."

Leo could tell that the Emperor was carefully considering what he said, and so he continued.

"The threat of sending Kefka there should be enough to make them see reason. I doubt that anyone wants to die by his hands in a fiery inferno. And isn't that how you usually do things? You send me in and keep Kefka off to the side in case we need him. You don't usually send him in alone, sir."

"That's because I haven't had a reason to send him in alone. But the resistance is growing, and time is of the utmost importance, Christophe."

"Then why wait to take action when we could be doing something about this now?"

Gestahl couldn't argue with his logic, and said he would consider sending Leo to Tzen. "I'll let you know my decision first thing tomorrow morning," he said before dismissing the General and sending him on his way.

\--------------------

Sunlight was streaming through the gap in the curtains, spilling across the floor and onto the sleeping figure huddled beneath the blankets in bed. Leo awoke slowly, rolling over and shielding his eyes from the sunlight with his hand. His head was throbbing, and there was a great deal of congestion in his chest. He sincerely hoped that he wasn't coming down with something. But after being vomited on by an ill mage, it was only a matter of time before he caught the flu from Kefka.

He got out of bed, going through all the usual steps of getting dressed and making himself look presentable. He had a meeting with the Emperor that morning, and he had to make sure he looked well enough to be sent out on a mission to Tzen. Though judging by his weary and worn appearance, only ten pounds of Kefka's makeup could cover up how dreadful he looked.

He joined General Celes in the dining hall for breakfast, and noticed a familiar face seated next to him at the table. Kefka had returned and was talking animatedly to Terra. He had covered himself in his usual makeup, his brightly colored feathers held in place by a green and white striped hairtie. He looked as though he'd made a full recovery overnight, and was ready to continue terrorizing the inhabits of Vector like he usually did.

Leo did his best to hide his illness from the others, willinging himself not to get sick when he caught a whiff of Celes' perfume. The overwhelming scent of jasmine made his stomach turn, and he pushed his plate of bacon, eggs and sausage aside as he sat quietly at the table, listening to Kefka run his mouth and waiting for the Emperor to arrive.

Just then Kefka spied Leo sitting at the table with his head in his hands, massaging his temples in an effort to relieve some of the pain and pressure in his sinuses. He took one look at the General and practically screamed, "Good lord, Leo! What's the matter with you? You look like death warmed over. And I should know because I've seen my fair share of corpses rotting in the noonday sun."

The mage quickly gathered his plate, cup and silverware and made for the door. "I'm leaving," said Kefka, whisking his half eaten breakfast from the table. "I'm not waiting around for Leo to infect us with whatever plague he's contracted. Probably some horrid disease he caught from some two gil performer down at the local tavern."

As he was leaving the dining hall, Kefka passed the Emperor in the doorway. He stopped long enough to tell Gestahl that Leo was sick, saying that he should keep his distance because he was certain that whatever Leo had it was something serious.

"I reccomend putting him in quarantine for a couple weeks," said Kefka. "We can't have him spreading his diseases throughout the palace, now can we?" Kefka then continued on his way, out the door and down the hall, leaving Leo to deal with the Emperor on his own. It was beginning to look like the General wouldn't be going to Tzen after all. Which meant that Kefka would soon be reeking havoc across the countryside.

"Your majesty," Leo began, his sentence broken by a fit of coughing. Even Celes decided to leave, taking her plate and moving to the other side of the table where Terra was sitting.

"It's quite alright, Christophe," said Gestahl, patting him on the shoulder. His tone was unsympathetic and cold. He didn't care that General Leo had fallen ill, or that he would now have to send Kefka to Tzen. And if Leo didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across the Emperor's lips. This man was no better than Kefka. All Leo could do was hope that Kefka kept the carnage to a minimum, and pray that at least some of the inhabitants of Tzen made it out alive.


	6. Babysitting

"What the hell is this?!" Kefka exclaimed, holding the half-Esper baby at arms length as a warm fluid dripped from her soggy bottom. Her diaper was wet, but the seventeen year old boy didn't know that when he picked her up. He now had a wet spot on the front of his shirt, and the baby in his arms was giggling happily as she wriggled and laughed.

Cid took the baby from Kefka as the boy let fly with a string of curses as he ranted and raved. This only made Terra laugh even harder as Kefka glared at her.

"You are a disgusting nuisance!" Kefka spat, poking the squirming infant in the belly with his index finger. "Just look at the mess you made." He then looked at Cid and said, "Aren't these things supposed to be house broken?"

Terra's pudgy hands suddenly grabbed hold of Kefka by the nose as she squealed in delight. "Mommy!" she cooed in her adorable baby voice.

Cid couldn't help but laugh as she squeezed Kefka's nose and called him mommy.

"I'm not your mother, you filthy wretch!" Kefka snarled. "Let go of me!"

It was then that Kefka realized that he really wasn't cut out for this babysitting business, and decided it was better to let Cid take care of her. He had more important things to focus on, such as the experiments Cid was in the process of developing. I mean that had to be a lot better and safer than babysitting, right? What could possibly go wrong?


	7. Black Wings of Destiny

He wondered what it was that made them different. 'Is it something in their eyes?' thought Kefka, carefully wedging the silver blade of his dagger into the gap between the round, white orb and its socket. 'They see things differently, don't they? Yes, I'm sure of it. For with time people's views change.'

Kefka plunged his blade into the body lying prone at his feet, carving the eyes out of their sockets then stabbing them one at a time with his dagger. He held up his dagger, gazing at the strings of flesh dangling from the severed eyeballs. He remembered a time when he was proud to serve the Emperor, when he looked up to him, and saw him as someone who was worthy of respect and admiration. But after spending countless nights spent fighting against the restraints that held him down, after he had screamed until he lost his voice, thrashing and cursing every last living person in Vector, he began to see things differently.

He gained a new perspective of the world, when blood clouded his vision and blinding lights shone into his eyes, when blackness engulfed him and he awoke to fire racing through his veins, screaming as his back arched up off the table, pulling the straps, stretching them taught as they dug into his wrists. The world was changing, and he was the only one who could see what was happening. It was the dawning of a new age, of magic and machinery coming together, of Esper fuelled abominations whose minds had been stained by the corrosive essence of ancient magic, until they no longer viewed human life as something worth preserving. How could he, for he was barely human anymore. He was something different, a new breed spawned from creatures who were never meant to be tamed by human hands.

He cleaned the blood off his dagger, then set about the task of disemboweling the unconscious man beside him. Snow was falling all around him, blanketing the frozen ground in a layer of fresh powder. Such pristine beauty seemed out of place on a scarred land filled with the dead and dying remnants of Kefka's latest violent outburst. The empire was becoming aware of his growing strength, just as he was becoming aware of the physical changes taking place within his own body, and had let him test his magic on a group of prisoners released from the jail cells in Vector.

Kefka didn't feel the cold or snow. His hands were kept warm by the crimson fluid spilling from the incision in his victim's abdomen. Blood soaked into the glove he wore on his right hand, his fingers digging in deep, pulling strands of intestines and various organs out onto the snow where he could examine them more closely. He was searching for something, trying to see if he could remember what it was like to be human, as he picked their corpses apart and pried open gaping wounds.

He reached up to brush his blond hair out of his face, and felt the slender curve of his left earlobe. He moved his fingers upwards, tracing the pointed shape that had formed in recent weeks since his last infusion of Esper magic. He was slowly mutating, taking on the inhuman shape of the creatures whose magic he'd adsorbed.

His back itched and his body ached. They said he was imagining things, and that the phantom wings that often accompanied the painful spasms and constant itching weren't real. Fools. What did they know? They hadn't been strapped down and injected with liquidized Esper magic. How did they know what he was feeling?

He was human on the surface, but inside he was changing. One of the reasons why he fought so hard against the restraints was because he could feel his wings trying to break through the surface of his skin. This caused him a tremendous amount of pain, his body convulsing as his muscles tensed and stretched, the growing pain and pressure in his upper back radiating out along the length of his spine. When they tried to hold him down he clawed at their face, drawing blood with his long nails. How dare they tell him that this wasn't happening when he could feel the changes taking place? When he could see it in the mirror every morning when he woke up?

It felt like a parasites wriggling beneath his shoulder blades, burrowing deep below the surface of his skin. It would awaken suddenly, gnawing at his insides, nibbling, biting, tiny fangs inching closer to the surface. Sometimes he would scratch his back until it bled, tearing himself open in hopes of freeing the hideous monstrosity that was festering in his open wounds. This creature fed off his sanity, robbing him of his ties to humanity while at the same time supplying him with an ever growing power source, with magic, with a force beyond the comprehension of those who had given it to him in the first place.

He swore he could feel them, the sharp quills prickling beneath his flesh. How long would it be until feathers sprouted from his skin? Until he could spread his wings and soar on the rising air currents into the sky? He would be in flight when that moment came, watching as both the heavens and earth burned, painting the clouds with vibrant shades of scarlet and amber, until the colors of the earth and sky merged and the world was bathed in blood and fire.

These pitiful humans. Such fragile things, easily broken like the dolls he played with and adorned in clothing and colors similar to his own. If this is what it meant to be human, then he didn't want it. They didn't know what it felt like to have parasitic worms gnawing at their backs, but they also didn't know how it felt to wield the power of the gods. And that power, that raw, destructive energy was what made everything worth it. He would rather lose himself then stay trapped within the confines of humanity.

A low moan distracted him from his thoughts, and he looked down to see the man whose entrails had been spilled onto the snow shift slightly, his eyelids fluttering open as he began to regain consciousness. Kefka smirked, holding his hand over the pile of bleeding organs. A small spark flashed between his hand and the dying man before him, and the smell of charred flesh reached his nostrils as the man began to scream.

Murder was an artform. Kefka learned that when he started using his victim's blood as paint. And anything worth doing was worth doing well. If he was going to kill someone, Kefka was going to do a thorough job, doing everything he could to prolong their torment and increase their suffering until they begged for death.

He knew he was changing into a monster. But there was no reason why he couldn't enjoy the experience. It was his destiny, just as it was the fate of all things to be destroyed with time. There was nothing else left but to embrace the chaos and await the moment in which he could escape the chains of mortality, rising up to become a god of destruction.


	8. Storm God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kefka is 25 in this and Celes is 8.

"You know, Thunder was one of the first spells I learned to cast," said Kefka, as lightning flared outside the window and thunder rumbled overhead. "It isn't quite as thrilling as Fire, though. It's useful if you want to put a spark up someone's ass, but frying someone with fire is much more fun than using electricity."

The mage was sitting at the foot of Celes' bed, his painted face illuminated in the dazzling display of light that flashed across the night sky. He cocked his head to the side, studying her as the little girl drew the blankets up under her chin, trembling as thunder rattled the glass in the window. He knew she had the potential to become something great, a Runic Knight, capable of wielding snowstorms and blizzards. But that wasn't any fun. He thought that maybe he could convince her to try learning other spells, spells that were far more devastating than a measly snowstorm.

Kefka leaned sideways, patting her knee and smiling at her. "You feel that, don't you? You're like me, so you should be able to feel the pulse of the storm in your veins. You don't have to be afraid of it. You should embrace it, capture it and make it yours. Part of using magic is knowing how to harness the fury of the elements, and using it to kill anyone who gets in your way."

Why couldn't uncle Cid watch over her? Why did they have to send this freakish nightmare to look after her?

Celes trembled with fear, blinking her bright blue eyes as she stared at him in the darkness of her dimly lit room. She didn't know what frightened her more, the storm or this man perched upon the foot of her bed. If he was trying to be pleasant, he was failing miserably at it. And his little speech about using magic to kill people wasn't helping.

Kefka turned his head, looking out the window as a bolt of lightning forked across the sky. He was mesmerized by the dancing flashes of light, watching as they spread like golden webs, fanning out across the blackened skies beyond the window. It reminded him of the pleasure he felt upon striking someone with a bolt of lightning. That moment, that brief flash before eternal darkness, the ability to cause instant death. He wondered if it were possible to create a spell capable of causing death on a more widespread scale, something that could wipe out an entire city in the blink of an eye.

"Mr. Kefka."

The mage was distracted from his thoughts by a tiny hand tugging on his sleeve. He looked down to see Celes gazing up at him with fear in her eyes.

"I'm scared," said Celes. "I want my teddy, but I don't know where he is."

Kefka sighed and rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a pathetic, sniveling little brat!" he said, raising his voice to the frightened child. "If you want your precious teddy bear, you can get him yourself."

"But I don't know where he is," Celes whimpered, her bottom lip quivering as her eyes filled with tears. "I lost him this morning when we were playing by the dresser."

With a flick of his wrist Kefka summoned the stuffed bear from across the room, the plush animal flying out from beneath a pile of clothes in the corner. Celes' expression brightened, and for a moment she thought she was going to be reunited with her lost bear. But then something flashed before her eyes, silver glinting in the light as thunder sounded in the distance.

Celes gasped. Her teddy bear had been impaled by Kefka's dagger, the shining blade protruding from its belly as the bear dangled from the wall above her bed.

"You're too old to be playing with stuffed animals anyway," said Kefka. "It's more fun to play with people, to break them and crush their meaningless hopes and dreams."

There was a brief pause, just long enough for Celes to draw breath as a scream began building in her chest.

"Don't," Kefka growled, his eyes flashing dangerously in the darkness that surrounded them. He leaned in close, shadows flitting across his face as he glared at the little girl. "I can pin you to the wall just as easily as I can your bear."

Celes leaned back against the headboard, too frightened to speak, too terrified to even move. She realized that there were things more frightening than a little wind, rain and thunder. And from that moment on she lost her fear of thunderstorms.


	9. Angel's Fury

Light fled from the heavens above as the heartless angel spread his wings, blocking out the sun. Oceans fell and mountains rose, and all that was lush and green perished in the flames that engulfed the earth. Shadows stretched across the horizon, turning day into night as billowing clouds raced through the skies.

This was the moment he'd been waiting for, his ascension to godhood. The earth and sky were torn asunder, and a blinding light pierced the clouds, obliterating the town of Mobliz.

Fissures opened in the ground beneath their feet, swallowing entire buildings as the children's screams mingled with the laughter echoing from the clouds. The adults had only seconds to act, shielding the children from their god's unholy might, sacrificing themselves in hopes that their children might survive the wrath of Kefka that rained down from above. But hope was failing in this ruined world.

The fissures widened as the ground gave way beneath them. The mother of a young boy reached into the chasm below, desperately trying to reach her child, who was clinging to rocky ledge for dear life. Tears were streaming down his face as he called out to his mother, her fingers brushing against his, making contact with her only son one last time before he slipped and plummeted into the chasm below, his fading screams vanishing into the darkness that surrounded him.

As the smoke cleared, their eyes fell upon the face of their god. Terrible and cruel, his laughter shook the earth, his wings fanning the flames that swirled around them. Cowering in fear, they clutched their children to their chest, knowing that the end had come. Others fell to their knees, lost in the radiant splendor that surrounded him. They began to call his name, praising Kefka as they bowed before him. And soon the cultist's tower would rise, spiraling towards the heavens as they chanted day and night, praying to their heartless angel.

There was no light left in this world, save for his own, the Light of Judgment. And if they were to turn away, he would smite the ruins of their broken bodies upon the hillside. They surrendered their souls to Kefka, their bodies swaying in time to the rhythm, this hymn of destruction, their voices joining together in a macabre symphony.

Kefka was pleased, hearing them sing and watching as the unfaithful fools perished in the flames. The cries of despair and tormented screams filled the air, reaching him in his tower above the clouds. He was more than the god of magic. He was death incarnate, gazing out across the ruined lands below.


	10. Death & Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year to all my readers and fellow Final Fantasy fans! I wish you all the best in the year ahead. And to celebrate, let's start things off with a new chapter as Kefka spends New Year's Eve with his favorite doll.

Kefka Palazzo sat alone in his room, looking out the window at the darkened skies as he awaited the start of the new year. He refused to join in the new year celebrations, and had chosen to avoid the festivities going on downstairs. He despised any kind of festive merriment, the sound of people laughing, talking and having a good time grated on his nerves. It disgusted him. What were these fools celebrating for anyway? Each year that passed only brought them another year closer to their inevitable demise.

He stabbed at a piece of chocolate cream pie with his fork, frowning as he listened to the music and laughter floating up from downstairs. This was the reason why he didn't celebrate his birthday. It was the same as New Year's Eve, just another year closer to death. And these disgusting pigs, getting drunk and throwing up all over themselves as they indulged in the plethora of wine served at Emperor Gestahl's New Year's Eve party. Kefka might have been a deranged mad man, but even he had to have some standards.

He'd seen soldiers vomiting on the banquet table and urinating on potted plants. It didn't happen very often, but there was always some drunken bastard that made an idiot out of himself. Was it any wonder why Kefka hated the human race, when these people couldn't celebrate anything without turning into stumbling, slobbering buffoons? None of these morons had any class or decency, except perhaps General Leo, who always remained sober no matter what sort of holiday celebration was going on.

Kefka reached for the bottle of strawberry syrup on the desk beside him, and poured it over the piece of pie he'd swiped from the banquet table before retreating to his room for the evening. There was something about this sweet, luscious syrup that he loved. He watched as the sticky sweetness slowly slithered from the mouth of the glass container, smothering the chocolate cream with a layer of rich, red syrup. It reminded him of blood. And as he drizzled the thick liquid over the piece of pie, he couldn't help but think how much better his tasty treat would be if he had actual blood instead of strawberry flavored syrup.

He had tasted blood before, its coppery tang lingering on his lips as he licked it off his fingers. It had a strong flavor, one that pleased his palate and made him crave its long lasting flavor. 

He looked at the piece of pie and wondered if death by chocolate was really possible. He supposed someone could die if they inhaled enough cocoa powder. If several bags of the powdery substance were torn open at once, it might suffocate his victim like thick clouds of ash raining down from the sky. He liked the thought of killing someone with something as simple as an overabundance of cocoa powder, and chuckled as he imagined Leo choking on so much cocoa powder that it filled his lungs and killed him.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from his murderous thoughts. He sat up straight and glanced at the door. "Go away," he spat. "I'm not in the mood for company."

"It's me, Kefka," came Terra's voice from behind the door.

The mage sighed, leaning back in his seat as his head drooped over the back of his chair. "Come in, Terra," he said. "But don't get comfy and think you're going to stay all night," he added, as the half-Esper girl opened the door and walked in.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Wouldn't you rather be at the party instead of whiling away the hours with me? I'm not the best company, you know."

"I don't really like parties," Terra confessed, taking a seat on the foot of his bed. "Everyone keeps staring at me. They begin a conversation about one thing or another, then quiet down the moment I walk into the room. It makes me nervous. I don't like having all the attention focused on me."

"I know the feeling. It seems as though we can't walk out the door without having a bunch of idiots gawking at us." He put his feet up on his desk, and started eating his slice of pie.

"But there's a difference," Terra pointed out. "You're not some sort of magical anomaly that everyone points and stares at. People know who you are and how you got your magic. I'm more of a mystery to them. I'm different."

Kefka snorted. "You think I'm not a magical anomaly? Look at me, Terra. I'm exactly what the empire wanted me to be - a monster. And the only reason people stopped pointing at me is because they know I'll cut their fingers off, or gouge their eyes out for staring at me." He stabbed his piece of pie again, leaving the fork sticking out of the mass of cream and syrup. "When they kept talking behind my back and laughing, I threatened to rip their lips off and shove them between the couch cushions."

"And did you?" Terra asked, wincing at the gruesome mental image. She wouldn't put anything past him. And she knew from past experiences that dismembering people was one of Kefka's favorite hobbies.

"No," he said dryly. "But the threat was enough to shut them up for a while." He held out his plate, offering it to the half-Esper girl. "Here. You can have it. I seem to have lost my appetite."

She accepted the slice of pie, thanking him for it as she started eating.

Kefka wasn't always horrible. Not to her anyway. He treated her differently, probably because they had something in common. They were both outcasts, but at least they weren't alone. They had each other, and that was enough. Enough that she didn't have to feel so alone, and Kefka had someone who actually enjoyed keeping him company. It wasn't much, but it meant the world to her. And although he wouldn't admit it, Kefka liked having her around.


	11. Slave to the Rhythm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why? Because you know he had to have done something like this.

There was never a dull moment with Kefka around. Most of the people who knew him knew to be on their guard around him, for he could switch from being lighthearted and playful to violent and destructive in an instant. The violent mood swings combined with his magical abilities made people keep their distance from him. The only problem was that there was no such thing as keeping a safe distance. Not when the man you were trying to avoid was capable of destroying everything within a five hundred mile radius.

Kefka delighted in causing all manner of destruction. He'd destroy his dolls when he was in a bad mood, or wander the palace causing mischief when he was bored. It wasn't difficult for him to think of ways to entertain himself, usually at the expense of others. He'd recently taken to amusing himself with the slave crown he'd created for Terra, controlling her and making her preform all manner of bizarre feats. It didn't surprise anyone when he made her burn fifty Imperial soldiers to death just to test her magic. What surprised them was what he had her do during dinner one evening, when Emperor Gestahl was meeting with the mayor of Narshe.

It was supposed to be a peaceful affair, with General Leo leading the negotiations. This was Leo's idea. And although it took him a week to talk Gestahl into having dinner with him, he was certain this was the best way to convince the mayor to side with them.

Kefka was not present during dinner. This worried Leo, as he had no way of knowing where he was or what he was planning. Celes, who was seated on his right next to Terra, didn't seem bothered by Kefka's absence. She was glad to be rid of him for a while, and was enjoying the calm, peaceful atmosphere. Terra wasn't worried either. But then again she didn't seem concerned about anything since Kefka made her start wearing that crown. Most of the time she sat staring vacantly into space, her once bright eyes now dull and lifeless.

She was his now, the perfect doll. Obedient, quiet, always willing to obey his every command. Kefka would pull her strings, making her move, making her dance, forcing her to bow before him. His pretty, pretty doll. He was going to have her make quite a spectacle of herself during dinner.

Terra played with her food, moving it around on her plate with her fork. She sighed heavily, resting her cheek against her hand as she stared down at her plate. She wasn't listening to the conversation going on around her. There was nothing going through her mind but absolute silence. Not a single thought or trace of emotion. She wouldn't think or feel unless he wanted her to. Her mind wasn't her own anymore. She belonged to Kefka.

And then she heard it, his voice slowly seeping into her mind, like poison steadily dripping into her veins. At first she heard laughter echoing through the quiet recesses of her mind, and her body froze, instantly awaiting his next command as the sound of his laughter drew her attention.

This posion, this toxic substance that he poured into her mind, was the sweetest venom she had ever tasted. It was as if nothing existed in her world but him. And it was an intoxicating substance, one that made her live to please him in any way she could, making her forget the life she had before. But that was fine with her. As long as Kefka was happy she didn't really care. All that mattered was making sure she did exactly what he told her to do.

"Dance," said Kefka. "Dance for me, my pretty little doll. I want to hear you sing."

Her head shot up, her blank eyes staring straight ahead, and Terra began to sing.

"Day-o, day-o. Daylight come and me wan' go home. Day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day-o. Daylight come and me wan' go home."

Gestahl paused, his fork halfway to his mouth as he stared at Terra. What on earth was going on? Why had she suddenly decided to burst into song during the middle of dinner?

"Terra, are you alright?" asked Leo.

Terra's eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She began to bob her head, moving in time with music that no one else could hear. She then leapt up onto the table, swinging her hips and twirling in circles. She kicked plates and cups off the table, leaping, prancing and spinning like a ballerina as she continued singing.

"Work all night on a drink of rum. Daylight come and me wan' go home. Stack banana till de morning come. Daylight come and me wan' go home."

"Terra, stop this!" Celes cried. "What's the matter with you?"

Leo's mouth dropped open in shock as the half-Esper girl grabbed Celes by the wrist and hauled her up onto the table with her. Terra spun her around, forcing her to dance as she began a lively fox trot across the table, still singing at the top of her voice. She kicked up her heels, and sent a bowl of salad flying into the Emperor's face. Celes shrieked as Terra dipped her, spun her around again, and kicked a glass of wine off the table.

By now Emperor Gestahl had recovered from his shock and was shouting orders at Leo, telling him to stop her at once. Not knowing what else to do, Leo climbed up onto the table and attempted to approach the singing, spinning whirlwind as Terra breezed across the table. He ducked as another glass of wine went sailing past, and grabbed Terra by the wrist, only to get pulled into dancing frenzy as she spun him around and slapped him on the butt. The next thing he knew her hands were on his hips as Terra half danced, half pushed him across the table, giving him a shove as they neared the edge and sent him crashing onto the floor.

Kefka started laughing when he saw Leo's prone form lying face down on the floor, surrounded by broken glasses and plates. He came bounding down the hall, seized Terra and Celes, and yanked them off the table. Then, with Kefka leading the way and Celes following behind, trapped in the middle as Terra continued to dance, the three of them formed a conga line and danced right out of the room, leaving Gestahl and the mayor of Narshe sitting there staring at them as Kefka laughed and Terra continued to sing.


	12. Spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a piece of dialogue from the story Hot Cocoa, which was written by DuckofIndeed. The sentence that inspired me said that "Kefka nearly succeeded in making good on his threat to burn the inn down just yesterday when he was sent into a panic over a spider." It got me thinking about what would happen if Kefka disliked spiders. And why not when he hates everything else in the world?

Of the many things that Kefka hated, one of the things at the top of his list was spiders, which fell somewhere between General Leo and people who put too much gravy on his food. This was not to be confused with having a fear of spiders. There was very little, if anything, that Kefka was afraid of. However, those who saw him in a panic because a spider was crawling up the wall thought differently.

It was always the same routine whenever Kefka spied one of the nasty little insects creeping across the floor. The moment he laid eyes on it he would scream, which was a sound that no one wanted to hear because it was usually followed by a massive explosion. Kefka's scream was the first, and often the last, warning to get out of the way before perishing in a fiery inferno. If you were in the vicinity and heard him scream, there was a good chance that death and destruction wasn't far behind.

First he would scream, launching into a mindless rant about how much he hated spiders, which often included more hates than was necessary to get his point across, then conjure a ball and fire and hurl it at the unfortunate insect. This was the very definition of overkill. And while he could easily strike a target from up to two hundred yards away, he had trouble hitting something that was less than an inch across and was scurrying across the floor at top speed.

Terra came running when she heard him scream, and saw him launch himself off the armchair and run screaming through the room, chasing after something that was too small for her to see. There were several burns in the carpet, as well as a few scorch marks on the wall. She was lucky he hadn't set the curtains on fire like he did the last time there was a spider in their living quarters.

"Kefka, stop!" Terra cried. "What are you doing?"

Because his sanity was in question, Terra never knew if he was in fact chasing an actual spider or some figment of his imagination. One could never be sure when it came to Kefka.

"Spider!" Kefka screeched in high-pitched voice. He stopped abruptly, a blazing ball of amber flames shimmering in the palm of his hand. He looked wildly around the room, searching for the elusive insect before turning to face Terra. "We have to kill it before it gets away. Or so help me, I will burn this bug infested hell hole to the ground!"

Being the kind hearted, gentle soul that she was, Terra couldn't stand seeing an innocent creature harmed in a senseless act of violence. She pulled a brightly colored handkerchief from the pocket in her dress, and joined him in his search, hoping to find the spider before he did so she could catch it and release it outside.

She got down on her hands and knees, looking under the coffee table and around the couch. "Where did you last see it?"

Kefka knelt down beside her, narrowing his eyes as he peered into the shadows beneath the table. "It was here a moment ago," he said. The next thing Terra knew she was being pushed to the floor, his foot on her back as he leapt onto the coffee table, scattering books and papers onto the floor in his mad dash across the furniture.

She saw the hairy brown spider skittering across the floor and under the table, the crazed magician running and diving onto the floor on the opposite end of the table. His cloak swirled around him as he spun on the spot and reared back, laughing as he prepared to launch another fireball at the spider.

Terra shrieked and ducked as the fireball flew past head, where it struck a vase of flowers on the mantle above the fireplace. When she looked back the spider was heading towards the couch, with Kefka shouting obscenities as he chased after it. She pounced on the spider, trying to catch it and scoop it up in her handkerchief.

"What are you doing, you silly girl?" Kefka snarled. I told you we have to kill it!"

"I'm trying to save it!" said Terra, narrowly missing the spider as it turned and headed for the door.

There was a brief scuffle as Terra and Kefka scrambled over top of each other, which resulted in Terra getting tangled in his many layers of clothes and tripping on his cloak. She hit the floor just as Kefka let fly with another fireball, which missed its mark and soared out an open window, due to Terra getting caught in his scarves and pulling him down with her when she fell.

The mage started screaming, his cloak falling into his face as Terra fought to untangle herself from the mass of fabric. He kicked her in the stomach, then rolled over onto his belly and lifted his cloak off his head, peering out from under it as he searched for the spider. Terra crawled out from under his cloak, with one of his freathers dangling from the sleeve of her dress. She stopped beside him on her hands and knees, the both of them looking around and wondering where the spider had gone.

And then they saw it. It was halfway across the room and heading towards the bedroom.

Kefka got to his feet first, followed by Terra who ran to keep up with him. She dove on the spider, covering it with her handkerchief just as Kefka prepared to burn the helpless insect alive.

He stood over her, his blue eyes reflecting the dancing flames in his hand, the flickering light casting ominous shadows across his painted face. "Stand aside, Terra."

"No!" She shielded the spider with both hands, covering it and her floral print handkerchief.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. I said get out of my way!"

"Why do you have to kill everything?" Terra shot back angrily. "Can't you let it go just this once?"

Kefka's eyes flashed dangerously as he glared at her. He was more than capable of killing both her and the spider, and she knew it. She also knew that if anyone could get through to him it was her. She was the only friend he had. And although most of his memories had wasted away to the point where he no longer remembered the happier moments they once shared, she still remembered when he was a better person, one that sewed her stuffed animals when they fell apart, and who used to spend hours coloring with her when she was little.

He hesitated before dissolving the flames in his hand. "You have ten seconds."

"Thank you." Terra scooped up the spider and ran out the door.

Kefka frowned, watching as she bolted out the door and down the stairs. He couldn't remember what he had done to make her like him. The fact that she came running when she heard him scream baffled him, because most people would run the other way whenever he was upset.

"I'll never understand her." He shook his head, turning on heel and heading back to his room. "But if I look on the bright side, letting that spider go means I have more time to focus on bigger targets. And what good is killing something if you can't listen to it scream? People make better noises when they're being tortured than insects, and they're just as much fun to squash."


	13. Kefka's Clothing Conundrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for DuckofIndeed, whose blog inspired me to write this.
> 
> I read in her blog about the time she cosplayed as Kefka Palazzo, and all the time and trouble she went through making her own costume. I couldn't help but laugh when I read this - "Which puts me into a tirade inside my head, wondering if he makes his clothes himself or if he pays someone to do it. Because those really don't look store-bought. I don't know, he looks like he'd be pretty handy at sewing, doncha think?"
> 
> So here it is. A story about Kefka's first attempt at making his own clothes.

Few people realized how much time and work went into making Kefka's clothes. They didn't know that he made them himself, or that it took him well over forty hours cutting, stitching and sewing everything together. It was a lot of work, but he was proud of his creation. And because the man couldn't wear matching patterns if his life depended on it, every outfit he made was different and unique.

He started by going to various stores in Vector, with Terra following close behind as he picked out which fabric he wanted to use. She went with him because she wanted to lend a hand, and Kefka took advantage of her kindness when he realized that having Terra with him meant that he didn't have to carry anything. He loaded her arms with rolls of striped and polka dot fabric, ignoring the weird looks she gave him when he handed her a roll of blue fabric with red polka dots.

Terra followed him from store to store for over an hour, the mountain of fabric steadily growing until all you could see was a pile of mismatched material with legs and feet. She was relieved when Kefka said he bought enough fabric and was ready to go home, which he only did after buying a little of something from every store in Vector.

They brought the material home and laid it on the couch, the back of the couch, and the living room floor. There was so much material that Terra didn't know how he would sort it out. The answer soon came when he had her sort everything into piles, with the striped fabric over here and the spotted fabric over there. And then, after Terra had taken the time to organize everything for him, he simply patted her on the shoulder and marched out of the room, saying that he'd use the fabric to make a shirt later. First, he had to make the pants.

Terra collapsed on her back in a pile of fabric. What was all that for if he wasn't even going to use any of it right away?

He went to his wardrobe and took out a pair of red pants and a pair of blue pants, then returned to the living room where Terra was still laying in a pile of assorted fabrics. Terra watched him take a pair of scissors to his red pants, cutting the right leg off halfway above the knee. He did the same thing with the blue pants, only this time he cut the left leg off completely.

"Fetch me my sewing kit, Terra," he said.

She struggled monetarily, sinking into the massive pile of material.

Kefka sighed and rolled his eyes. "Will you quit flopping about like a fish out of water?"

"Sorry," Terra apologized, sinking further into the mountainous pile of fabric. She finally settled for rolling over onto her belly and crawling out onto the floor. She left the room, returning a minute later with the sewing kit, which he swiped out of her hand without so much as a thank you before returning to his work. He then spent the next several minutes hemming both pairs of pants.

"Why did you cut the legs off your pants?" Terra asked, skirting around the sinkhole of clothing and taking a seat on the arm of the couch.

"I like layering," said Kefka. "First I'll put on the blue pants, then the red overtop of those. It'll be a nice contrast, having the red and blue next to each other. Though I'll probably be quite hot in the summer. But I'll stay nice and cozy in winter. And if there's one thing I absolutely hate it's being cold."

He was doing a good job hemming the pants, and Terra asked him if he had any previous sewing experience.

"I've tried sewing a few things before," he said. "It didn't go well. My earlier efforts at making pants results in garbs that wouldn't stay up. And we can't have that, now can we?"

Terra shook her head. She didn't like the thought of Kefka strutting down the hall and having his pants fall down, revealing the world's ugliest pair of green polka dot underwear.

Once he finished hemming his pants, Kefka then tried making a shirt. It took him forever to choose which material he wanted, using Terra as a model as he draped different types of cloth over her lean frame, making her look very much like a mummy wearing an assortment of tie dyed fabric. He then made her parade around the room so he could see how she looked.

After forty-five minutes of watching Terra try on different types of material, he choose five different types of material to work with, then set about the task of cutting, pinning and sewing the shirt. Sewing the main part of the shirt wasn't too bad, until he tried it on and found it was too tight. And while he did try it on several times during the process, Kefka quickly learned that safety pins are no substitute for actual stitches.

First the safety pins popped around the collar, which sent him into a rage as he watched the pins fly in all directions. Terra actually had to duck as three of them came flying off at once. It took him a few minutes to calm down, during which Terra ran around the room gathering the scattered safety pins. He then adjusted the safety pins, tried the shirt on again and couldn't get it off. And it didn't help that he was stuck with the shirt halfway over his head with one arm sticking out the side. This resulted in even more screaming and cussing as Terra tried to help him take his shirt off.

The mage struggled and fought, yelling at Terra as she tried pulling the shirt off over his head. "Stop!" he cried, his voice muffled beneath the many layers of fabric. "Stop stop stop! You're going to rip it!"

Kefka continued to struggle for another five minutes before ripping the stitches out as his arm went through the sleeve. "Son of a submariner!" he screamed at the top of voice. "I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate making clothes!"

After that Terra suggested that they take a break for a while. And although he was still fuming, Kefka eventually settled himself on the couch amid his fabric collection, still grumbling and muttering obscenities under his breath. Terra made him a cup of hot cocoa, hoping it would help calm his nerves. And there he sat, sipping cocoa while gazing at the piles of assorted fabric spread out from one end of the room to the other.

"I can see that this is going to take a while," he said. "I had hoped this was something I could finish in a day or two. But at this rate, I doubt if I'll have it finished by the end of the week." He leaned forward in his seat, picking up a piece of cloth that was green with yellow spots. Terra could tell he was deep in thought, judging by the expression on his face. "I wonder how it would look if I added a few scarves to my ensemble."

Terra groaned, falling over backwards and landing in one of Kefka's piles of fabric. The last thing she wanted right now was another two hour shopping spree with Kefka.

\------------------

After returning home the next morning with an armload of brightly colored scarves, Terra sat at Kefka's desk, watching as the mage continued working on his new clothes. He reinforced the shirt below where the stitches split the last time so they wouldn't split further, which didn't help as they only split again during his next attempt to get the shirt on and off. She was glad that she had chosen to keep her distance from him. Because when the stitches split the second time, Kefka became so enraged by this setback that he practically exploded in a blazing ball of fury. Terra screamed and ducked as sizzling whips of electricity flashed around the room. She hit the floor as lightning forked in the air above her head, taking cover behind the couch until his tantrum was over.

Kefka had had enough of struggling to get in and out of his shirt. He got his scissors and cut the stitches. Not all the way, but a good several inches down both sides. And once he made the sleeve-holes much larger, he was able to get his arms out without much difficulty. Which was a huge relief for Terra, who was getting tired of running for cover every time he split the stitches in his shirt.

His shirt and pants now complete, Kefka began working on the sleeves. And since he'd had trouble with his shirt being too tight, and didn't want to make the same mistake twice, he used more material than was necessary to make the sleeves. This resulted in sleeves that were far too big and puffy. Terra worried that this would set him off again when he saw how they looked, but Kefka was pleased with his creation and decided to keep them that way.

"You like them that way?" Terra asked, gently poking one of his puffy sleeves with the tip of her finger.

Kefka brushed her hand away. "Quit poking at them. Do you want to make them deflate after I worked so hard to make them that way?"

Deflate? And since when had he set out to make them like that on purpose?

Terra shook her head, taking a step back and holding her hands up in front of her. She wasn't going to say anything, not when he was finally happy and had stopped hurling bolts of lightning across the room.

By now the living room had been cleared of excess fabric, with Terra packing up the remaining material and putting it away on a shelf in his closet. All that remained was the material he was going to use for the cloak and collar, along with an assortment of colorful scarves which he would add later.

Kefka started by cutting a half circle of red and yellow fabric that he would use to make the collar, and ended up making it too big. Terra put her hands over her mouth, fighting to suppress a fit of giggles as he turned and looked at her with his puffy collar bulging around his neck. The collar was even puffier than his sleeves, and partially obscured the lower half of his face.

"What are you laughing at?" he snapped.

"Nothing," she said, still snickering and snorting as he glared at her. She backed out of the room, then quickly ran to her bedroom where she buried her face in her pillow and exploded with laughter.

Kefka's second attempt at making the collar wasn't much better. This time it was too short. And not only that, but it didn't come down in the front nearly enough.

Terra stuck her head outside her bedroom door when she heard Kefka ranting and raving in the living room, and was nearly hit in the face with a flaming ball of fabric.

It took him three tries before he finally succeeded in making the collar the right size. All that was left was the cloak, which was fairly easy compared to everything else he'd made. He then spent the rest of the day adding the finishing touches to his outfit, including a glove he found buried beneath a mound of socks in his dresser drawer, strings of beads that he attached to the sash around his waist, and several brightly colored feathers that he tucked in his ponytail.

\-------------------

It was half past noon when the door to the meeting room was thrown wide open, hitting the wall with a bang as Kefka walked in like he owned the place. There was a smile on his face and a swagger in his step as he marched into the room, pulling out a chair and seating himself next to Leo. He propped his feet up on the table, his hands clasped behind his head as he leaned back in his chair, still smiling as he rocked back and forth on the chair's back legs.

Leo's mouth dropped opened, his gaze traveling from Kefka's mismatched boots to the red and blue pants he was wearing. He looked up and saw several layers of silk scarves trailing over the back of the chair, mingling with vibrant shades of red and yellow that flowed over his hips and spilled onto the floor.

"Sorry to interrupt," said Kefka, gazing up at the ceiling as Leo continued to stare at him. "I had nothing better to do, so I thought I'd drop by for a visit."

"What are you wearing?" Leo asked.

Kefka grinned. "Do you like what you see, Leo?" He ran a hand over his chest, showing off his painted nails as he fondled his collar. He winked at Leo and the General cringed, a look of utter repulsion on his face as he recoiled in horror and almost flew out of his chair.

"Good god, Kefka!" Leo exclaimed, causing the mage to burst out laughing at his reaction. That man made his skin crawl. And here he was, decked out in every color of the rainbow with several layers of evil clown makeup on his face. And did Kefka care that everyone in the room was staring at him? No, of course not. He loved being the center of attention. And the reaction he got from Leo was priceless.


	14. The Pearl In the Crown

When people spoke of Kefka and Terra, they often spoke of how things used to be different. They used to be friends, long ago when she was still a child. He used to buy her coloring books, and together they would spend whole afternoons laughing, talking and coloring. They say she looked up to him, and saw him as an older brother, someone she loved and cared about. But all those words were drowned out by the voices in his head, screaming endlessly into the void as they pulled him down into oblivion.

They said she tried to take care of him, thinking he was ill and trying to nurse him back to health. She used to sit beside his bed, dabbing his fevered brow with a damp washcloth as he shivered and moaned. Kefka was ill, but it wasn't the sort of illness you could cure. And no amount of love and kindness could bring back the person that he used to be.

They spoke of moments from the past, lost days he couldn't remember, until he grew tired of their constant chatter and decided to silence them once and for all. But in the back of his mind something lingered. A voice, not unlike the Espers that were always talking, always telling him what to do. She was half Esper, but her voice carried a sweeter tune. One that he could sometimes recognize, speaking to him from within the depths of his insanity.

When he awoke from the darkness that clouded his thoughts, he didn't remember where he was or how he got there. He was sitting on the living room floor, but it didn't look the same now that everything was in ruins. He felt fingers closing around his wrist, and when he looked down there she was, gazing up at him with tears in her eyes.

He didn't know why she was crying, or why she looked so concerned. He supposed the bloody gash on her forehead had something to do with it. But she didn't seem to be concerned about her own well being. She was worried about him.

Of all the stupid, silly things for her to worry about. He was perfectly fine. He told her that time and time again. And yet she continued to waste her tears on him, those tears that shone like pearls in the pale light of the setting sun. If he could he would protect her. He would make everything right again. If only he knew how.

\---------------------

Kefka hadn't given her a gift in years. Not since he fell ill shorty after her thirteenth birthday. Therefore she was surprised when he presented her with the most beautiful crown she had ever seen. The crown sparkled like the noonday sun, with garnets and diamonds set in gold. And in the center of this delicately woven band there was a pearl, milky white and shining like the pale light of the moon. It would be the last tear she cried for him, the last time she felt pain. He placed the crown on her head, then stood back and watched as the light left her eyes, leaving them cold and hollow like his own.

He smiled at her, and slowly she began to fall, sinking down into his arms as the warmth of his body surrounded her. She was safe now, isolated from the rest of the world and kept in quiet seclusion, where she wouldn't have to trouble herself with thoughts and fears, or struggle with the pain that consumed her every time she looked into his eyes. They didn't care about her anyway. He was the only one who could properly care for her. She wouldn't think or feel unless he allowed it.

"My precious doll," he murmured, gently stroking her soft, green curls. She had spent many years trying to take care of him. Now it was his turn to take care of her.


	15. Bloodlust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is different than my other stories featuring Terra and Kefka. But with the way Kefka is, there were bound to be moments when he lost his temper and lashed out at her.

The first time he hit her, and felt the warmth of her blood dribbling down his fingers, was the day Kefka discovered his lust for blood.

He was in the process of making a second set of clothes when it happened. Terra had offered to help, and was standing behind him, carefully inserting pins in his collar when she accidentally poked him with a pin. Kefka screamed, backhanding her across the face with enough force to draw blood. The garnet ring he wore on his left hand tore open her cheek, spilling blood down his fingers.

"You idiot!" he shouted, ignoring her cry of pain as she clapped a hand over her cheek. "Why don't you watch what you're doing?"

Terra backed away from him. She'd seen that look in his eyes before, though it usually wasn't directed at her. She could see his eyes shimmering with sapphire flames, as the Espers that fueled his madness rose up to claim him as their own. He wasn't himself when that murderous glare clouded his vision. But Kefka didn't look at her that way for very long. His gaze slowly drifted towards his fingers, watching as blood trickled down the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry, Kefka," Terra apologized. But he didn't hear her speak. He was staring at the blood on his hand, seemingly mesmerized by the crimson fluid that stained his pale fingers.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, his lips parting as he licked the blood off his hand, and all while gazing at her with those cold, cruel eyes. He made sure she could see what he was doing, never flinching or batting an eye as she recoiled in disgust at his obscene behavior. He wanted her to watch, wanted to see the pleasure that she gave him. For it was then that he discovered how much he liked the taste of blood.

"It's alright," he hissed, his lips barely moving as he spoke. There was a brief pause, and a wicked smile slowly spread across his painted face. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again." He held out his hand, the palm facing up as he beckoned her towards him, like a predator luring its prey into the jaws of death. "Come here," he murmured, still looking at her with that sadistic smile on his face.

He was too calm. Terra knew that the moment he looked at her. Her instincts warned her to stay away, and yet there was always a part of her that wanted to believe the old Kefka she remembered from her childhood was still in there somewhere, hiding, or maybe he was trapped by the Espers that had poisoned his mind.

She'd seen it before, during those rare moments when he was able to hold a conversation without bursting into spontaneous laughter, or ranting about how much he hated everyone and everything around him. She'd seen the fire in his eyes, but she also saw something else. It was there, speaking to her like a whisper on the wind, one that spoke of a time long ago when they were friends, when she looked up to him and loved him like a brother. She still cared about him, even though there were moments when he looked at her and didn't appear to know who she was. But there were also times when her voice was the only thing that brought him to his senses, when he heard only her, calling him back from the brink of madness.

It was enough to give her hope, to make her trust him. She was there for him when no one else was. And no matter how many times they warned her to stay away from him, Terra stayed by his side. Sometimes he would smile, chuckling softly and telling her she was a fool. That was one of the reasons why he didn't believe in things such as hope and dreams, because neither one of those things could bring back the man he once was.

She lowered her hand, letting him see what he had done. Kefka almost appeared concerned. He cupped her chin, tracing the wound with his thumb, then pulled her close, and she shuddered when she felt his hot breath on her cheek.

"My pretty doll," he whispered. "What have I done to you? Seems a shame to mar such a beautiful face with these hands. But you, you never learn, do you? You don't listen to me." His tone was harsh, and he tightened his hold on her, tilting her face upwards so she was gazing directly into his eyes.

The smile had faded from his lips, and suddenly she gasped when she felt his tongue lapping at the blood that spilled down her cheek. She pushed him away, and Kefka stumbled backwards, almost tripping over his cloak. Silence stretched between them, lingering for several seconds before he began to laugh.

"What's wrong?" asked Kefka. "You can't expect me to harm one of my favorite toys and then not attempt to fix it. Because that's exactly what you are. You're nothing but a broken toy. And I should know a thing or two about being broken. But look at us. I'd say we've done a pretty good job piecing ourselves back together, don't you think?"

Terra was silent. He didn't really see her as one of his toys. Or did he? She didn't want to believe what he said. Surely he didn't see her as a mere plaything. But sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she wondered who it was she was seeing. Was this Kefka, the man who had cared for her and raised her since she was a child? Or was this a bloodthirsty monster who saw her as nothing more than a toy for his own amusement?


	16. Master of Puppets

He was more than Emperor Gestahl's court mage. With the power he'd been given he had risen above them all. And with the shining crown he'd made for his lovely Terra, he could stand back and watch as she obeyed his every command.

It was his way of playing god, a game of master and servant. She was no different than the rest of his dolls. He would pull her strings, watch her dance, watch her sing. She would bow before him, her parasite god, with worms consuming the carcass of her conscious mind.

She was his shadow, moving with him in a symphony of destruction. Together they would put on a show, a macabre pantomime with Kefka standing beside her, her actions mirroring his, their bodies weaving in and out of spires of smoke, leaping, running, rising just to fall.

Her movements were fluid, swaying with the rhythm of the dancing flames as he ordered her to move, making her perform for him. They worked together in perfect harmony, creating order amid the chaos. Kefka's laughter rose above the screams, Terra raised her hands, and death rained down from the heavens.


	17. Kefka Vs. The Pickle Jar

This was ridiculous. Kefka had torched entire towns, beheaded people and laughed as he watched their city burn. Surely he could open a jar of pickles. But the task was proving to be more difficult than he thought.

His hand slipped off the jar, which resulted in a slew of obscenities along with one of his usual hate filled rants. He tried hugging the jar against his chest so he could get a better hold on it, his wrist aching from repeated attempts to open the jar, but the lid still wouldn't budge. Not even a tiny little bit. And god help everyone in Vector if he broke a nail while trying to open this damn thing.

Kefka slammed the jar down on the counter, the liquid sloshing around as the pickles bobbed and floated in their glass prison. He glared at them, thinking that maybe Leo had done something to permanently seal the jar shut. He could have used some of that industrial strength military grade super glue, the kind that Kefka had put on the toilet seats just last week. Oh how he had laughed when Leo got his ass stuck to the seat! It had taken them nearly three hours to peel him off the toilet. So perhaps the General had decided to get his revenge by gluing the lid shut on the pickle jar.

It was then that Celes walked into the kitchen. She noticed the increasingly violent mage trying desperately to pry the lid off the pickle jar with a steak knife, and made the very wise decision to stay out of it. She crept along behind him, snatching a few chocolate chip cookies off a plate on the counter before heading towards the door. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in the kitchen with Kefka wielding a knife. She'd seen what he could do with sharp objects, and it wasn't pretty. But then she heard him scream, and realized that if she didn't intervene, he might very well succeed in burning down the entire north wing of the palace again.

That wasn't a pleasant sight to imagine. The smoldering remains of the kitchen, with curtains and furniture reduced to piles of ash. And in the middle of it all a pickle jar. The lone survivor, undefeated by the great mage Kefka Palazzo.

"Kefka," she said, cautiously approaching him from behind.

"What?" He whirled around, glaring at her with the knife clenched in his fist. "What the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Celes reached for the jar in his hand. "May I?"

Kefka practically threw the jar at her. "Take it! And good luck getting it open. I seriously doubt that a little girl such as yourself can open it."

Celes rolled her eyes. She'd show him what this "little girl" was capable of. She took the jar over to the sink, turned on the tap and held it under the stream of hot water for a couple seconds. She then dried the jar with a dish cloth, tapped it on the counter a few times, and twisted the lid off.

The mage stood there staring at her with his mouth hanging open in shock.

"You're welcome," said Celes. She handed him the jar, grabbed a few more cookies, and continued on her way.


	18. Ruins & Memories

He was flying, the wind rising behind him, rippling the fabric of his cloak. The skies were on fire, blazing with the amber hues and golden flames of a world that was slowly descending into ruin.

This world meant nothing to him. These people, their hopes and dreams withering like the last dying remnants of the lush flora that once covered the earth. They were meaningless, insignificant when compared to the might of a god. He smiled, watching the buildings crumble around him, turning to dust on the wind, carrying with it their hopes and dreams and whisking them away into the nothingness that remained.

He sifted through the dust, through ash and broken dreams, watching it all drift away, falling, like sand through an hourglass. It was here that he found a lost remnant of his past, from a time he no longer remembered. It was a plush moogle, its right wing held in place with ragged stitches. His blood red claws pierced the soft fabric, gripping it tightly as he struggled to remember.

This was hers, long ago when she was a child. She used to carry it with her wherever she went. And although it held her memories, the faded echo of her laughter no longer reached his ears. She was precious to him, the toy's eyes shining like the jewels in her crown. How long he toiled, working to craft his own submissive desires into a device that would bind her to him. Where was she now, he wondered, looking out across the burning skies and ruined planes. Had she been lost in the fires that engulfed the world?

Slowly he turned, letting the last of his memories slip from his hands as the toy fell to the cold ground below. Terra was gone, and so was he. Kefka had heard the call of magic, its alluring voice beckoning him to arise from his slumber and awaken as a god. All that he was had been buried beneath time and dust, beneath pillars of smoke and bloodstained streets, lost amid the tortured screams that filled the air. He wasn't Kefka Palazzo anymore. He was a god, alone in a world of ruin.

He turned to face the setting sun, letting the pale light caress the features of his face. A fell wind was blowing across the barren planes, swirling the ash and fiery embers as it lifted them towards the heavens. He spread his wings, rising on the winds and flying towards the horizon. This world meant nothing to him, but there would always be a part of him that remembered her.


	19. Cruelty

"Many people are humanists without even knowing it. If you are non-religious and look to science, reason, empathy, and compassion in order to live an ethical and meaningful life, you're probably a humanist."

Humanist. The word conjured images of cruelty in his mind. It was a word that sickened him to his very soul. It was a joke, because humans were often anything but human in nature. And who knew this better than Kefka Palazzo?

'Let's start with science,' he thought. 'What did science do for me? How have I benefitted from advances in science and the modern technologies available in the present?'

Yes, of course he'd start with science, for that is where it all began. Kefka's journey down the path of destruction began with science, when the empire started developing technology capable of infusing humans with Esper magic. The ways in which he benefitted from it only proved how cruel humans were, because soon after he was given the gift of magic he turned on his fellow man, forcing them to bend to his will or die by his hand, thus allowing the cruelty of the human race to spread through destruction.

It was humans who did this to him, who cast aside their humanity and began experimenting on people as though they were animals. And to think the word "humanist" stood for compassion and empathy, two things Kefka lost during the experiments that twisted his mind.

He'd heard Leo spouting nonsese about humanism, about things such as history, poetry, and moral philosophy. Was it any wonder that he laughed in Leo's face when he heard him talk of such things? Kefka was always laughing, for only he could see the humor in it, the irony of the perversions that had corrupted the world.

When he gazed at the world outside his window, at the soldiers being trained in the art of advanced military weapons, at the Magitek armor that spawned flames from the mouth of Hell and lightning from the heavens above, Kefka wondered where their morals were then, if they had been abandoned and left to die in the streets with every other rotting corpse the empire left in its wake.

Everything that was created would eventually perish, but it seemed as though death and destruction was everlasting, that cruelty and violence would outlast hope and dreams. This world was racing towards its own destruction. The people seemed bent on destroying the world in which they lived. So why should they complain if he helped speed up the process?

Kefka thought it was funny, their attempts at reason when they explained to him the purpose of the experiments. Progress for the sake of progress, because progress was a means of furthering the empire as it slowly consumed the land, spreading like a vile cancer that destroyed everything it touched. It was the advancement of society, the betterment of society as a whole, as they called it. The Emperor's word was law. And in order for him to enforce his rules and regulations on the public, he needed the might of an advanced military behind him, carrying out his orders without question.

These fools were blind to their actions, not knowing or caring who they destroyed for the sake of progress. And when you stopped caring for life around you, when you killed without mercy and compassion was lost, when you became the source of your own destruction, all that remained was a world in ruins, filled with people lying to themselves about the morality of their actions, believing in their own self-righteous desires without caring about the needs of others.

Kefka stood back and laughed, watching as the world burned. The tides and torrents of human misery were rising, licking at the feet of his tower as he sat upon his throne, a god of chaos and destruction with the power to vanquish whole civilizations in the blink of an eye.

They had no one to blame but themselves, he thought, for bringing about their own destruction. They had given him this power in a quest for their own, without considering the repercussions of tampering with the ancient art of magic. It was this mindlessness, this selfish act of preserving their own beliefs while erasing the lives of others that had enabled Kefka's rise to power. If only they had seen what they were doing before it was too late, before the error of their ways brought about the destruction of the earth.


	20. Love You To Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Once again I've taken an innocent holiday and ruined it with Kefka's unique brand of madness. But if you Google the dark origins of Valentine's Day, you may be surprised at what you find.

Valentine's Day. It was a day that Kefka despised almost as much as he hated Christmas. He hated what it had become, and that people had ruined it with romance and sickening displays of emotion. It had been one of the greatest holidays, celebrated with violence, bloodshed and bizarre sex acts, the kind that made his pulse race as he contemplated whipping someone with strips of raw, bleeding flesh, torn from the hide of a freshly butchered animal.

Kefka had sexual urges just like any other man. Just because he played with dolls, and wore enough makeup to stop a stampeding herd of megalodoths, didn't mean he had no desire to fuck someone until they couldn't see straight. But the sadistic fantasies he had often left women begging him for mercy, their tortured screams fueling his lust, making him crave more of their delightful cries of pain. He would take them to a very dark, erotic place, and he would leave them there alone. No one survived when Kefka was through playing with them.

This is why the dark origins of Valentine's Day appealed to him. In those days it was known as the Feast of Lupercalia. It was also known as the Wolf Festival that celebrated Lupa, a legendary she-wolf who suckled infant orphans. According to legend, Lupa was Fenrir's mate. They were both Espers, divine beings that were loved and worshipped by the ancient Magi in the days before the war. Their sacred union inspired the many rituals that surrounded the festival, including the wild, animalistic orgies that took place during the festival.

The festival began with the sacrifice of two male goats and a dog. A feast was held afterwards, and the men would whip the women with the hides of the animals they'd just slain. Young women would actually line up for the men to whip them, believing that this barbaric ritual would make them fertile. The men would then draw the women's names from a jar, and whoever they ended up with was their chosen mate for the duration of the festival. The couple would pair up and engage in ritualistic sex acts, howling and kneeling on all fours, their nude forms bathed in flickering flames and silver moonlight.

Kefka was an animal, a predator stalking his prey. He could easily imagine himself as a wolf, hunting his mate and whipping her until she bled. His fingers would caress her bleeding flesh, his tongue tracing the ragged edges of her wounds, tasting blood and sweat on his lips. He had been infused with Fenrir's magic, and possessed the spirit of a wolf. He was a beast, savage and wild, craving nights of blood and fire, carnal pleasure and hideous acts of torture. This was the heart of Kefka Palazzo, the heart of a monster.


	21. Toys

Clumps of stuffing and torn bits of fabric littered the floor of his room. Kefka had thrown another temper tantrum, pulling the hair out of his dolls and scattering their severed limbs from one end of the room to the other. A few of the more unfortunate members of his collection had been reduced to smoldering piles of ash, while others had had their eyes torn out.

This is what it would look like if they let Kefka have his way, if Gestahl turned him loose and let him kill everything in sight. It was mass murder, but on a much smaller scale, and it didn't involve actual people being harmed. But given the opportunity, they knew what he would do. They'd watched his behavior spiraling out of control, his sanity disintegrating with each day that passed.

It was one thing to watch him scream and throw his toys at people, but when he started using his dagger to slice open the dolls' bellies and pull their stuffing out, laughing as the strands of white cotten stretched and wrapped around his fingers, they knew there was something seriously wrong with him. In his mind he imagined the cotton as strings of bloody flesh, as he pulled them apart, piece by piece, with his fingers, giggling insanely to himself as he imagined dripping strands of muscle slowly separating from the bone. The larger clumps of stuffing, those were pesky organs, always getting in the way, those troublesome things. They would have to be dealt with.

Kefka carefully excised the thick chunks of stuffing, digging his sharp nails into the doll's abdomen and tearing its insides out. In his mind he saw his fingers drenched in blood, and he laughed harder, until he was practically screaming, his body consumed with wild excitement as he flung the bits of stuffing across the room.

Everything was an object, a toy for his amusement. He would destroy everything if they let him. They couldn't keep him locked up in the palace forever. One day he would be free to feel the warm gush of blood cascading over his hands, to smell the scent of charred flesh, rather than the familiar smell of burnt cotton and wool.

He liked playing with his dolls, but it was just practice, just a game he liked to play. Like a game of chess, moving the pieces around the board, the knights and kings, setting them up to fall. How easily he could clear the board when he was tired of playing with them.


	22. Frozen Carnage

From the sands of Doma to the snowy peaks of Narshe, Kefka leaves behind a trail of death and destruction. He has learned many things about death, and knows that it is a process that takes time to complete. Even the simple act of smothering someone with a pillow requires a great amount of patience, making him wait several minutes until his victim loses consciousness.

He also knows that what happens to the body after death depends on the environment. If you leave a corpse in the sun too long, it will quickly begin to rot. But if you dump a body in the snow, it will eventually freeze into a petrified mass of congealed blood and ragged strips of flesh.

He likes freezing bodies in the snow, almost as much as he likes burning people alive. He thinks it's funny, the way their terrified expressions are preserved when their bodies are frozen.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to make faces at people?" said Kefka, cocking his head to the side as he examined one of the frozen bodies in the snow. "If you keep that up, your face is going to freeze that way." He then fell over on his back in the snow, laughing at his own sick joke until his sides hurt.

These frozen corpses were like toys, dolls he could play with, styling their hair and painting their faces with makeup. He couldn't dress them in pretty clothes like he did his own dolls. They were far too stiff for that. But at least they smelled better than the bloated bodies he left rotting in the sun in Doma. Those ones weren't nearly as much fun to play with.


	23. Fallen Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I started writing Broken Bonds, I've had an image in my mind of what it'll look like the day Terra finally realizes that Kefka has lost his mind. So for those of you who are reading that story, consider this a sneak preview/more poetic version of that moment.

Feathers falling to the floor, surrounding him, their glossy surface shining in the firelight. He is lost amid their colors, amid the voices and nightmares that have plagued him these last few years. Wreathed in flames and covered in scars, he hides his past beneath layers of makeup, laughing, as the feathers fall, one by one, a multitude of iridescent hues.

There is fire, there is blood, with shadows clinging to his pale from as he dances where light meets dark, spinning, weaving a rainbow of colors into a spiral of glittering shapes and patterns. He is lost, but he is happy. In his madness he finds release, he finds peace within the colors as he drowns in them, singing, prancing, dancing mad.

'Remember me and keep moving forward, Terra. I've resigned myself to my fate, knowing that all the world must burn as I stare into the darkness and rage at eternity, while it stares back at me, ready to swallow me whole.'

At first she didn't understand what he meant when he told her to remember him, saying that he would be gone long before she received her first letter. But when she saw him surrounded by flames, grinning as his painted smile spread across his face, she realized that she had lost him, and that all she had left were the letters that he wrote.

'One day my wounds will grow wings, and allow me to escape the cage I've been forced to call my home.'

Tears came to her eyes as she recalled the moments they shared, in sunshine and in rain, in the flowering fields beyond Vector. He was standing right in front of her, and yet he was somewhere far away, in a place she couldn't reach.

'Hope... Dreams... Where do they come from? What purpose do they serve? I used to dream, I used to glance beyond the stars, but now I've fallen too far to reach for the dreams I once had. How easily they slip away, fading as soon as I open my eyes...'

Slowly he turns, offering his hand, as he silently asks her to join him in a never ending collage of color and motion. She takes his hand, if only to feel the ghost of the man who was once her closest friend, and joins him in the dance, as she relives their treasured memories in her mind.


	24. Paradise Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my muse is stuck on Broken Bonds, I'm going to start using this collection to post extra scenes from that story, starting with this chapter where Terra recalls one of the fond memories she shared with Kefka.
> 
> I'd also like to add that this chapter was inspired by Kobashi's magnificent Kefka cosplay. You can Google him, as well as Sumyuna who cosplayed as Terra Branford, if you want to see the picture of Terra and Kefka from this story.

She'd seen his fury light the skies, his rage opening up the heavens as fire rained down from above. She had difficulty believing that this was the same person who held her she was a child, and comforted her when she awoke in the middle of the night. She used to dream of her parents, of the family she lost long ago. She remembered seeing her mother, her face covered in blood, her last breath spent begging Gestahl to let her hold her daughter, and gaze upon her face, one last time before she passed away. Now all she sees is Kefka, laughing, as he drifts farther away from her.

It felt as though everything was falling apart, collapsing from within as the chasm between them widened. She ran towards him in her dreams, the skies alight with fire from the burning clouds above. But no matter how fast she ran, should could never catch up to him.

Kefka laughed and shook his finger at her. "I don't think so, darling," he said, his voice carrying on the wind. "Not this time."

She fell to her knees at the edge of the chasm, her fingers brushing the fabric of his cloak. She leaned forward, calling his name, and just like that he was gone, his voice no more than a whisper on the wind.

Terra watched him disappear into the clouds, her tears drifting away on the wind, glistening like scattered dewdrops against the burning skies. She didn't expect them to understand her feelings for him. They knew that Kefka used his slave crown to control her. But they didn't know him like she did. She knew his heart before it was stained with darkness, before magic corrupted him, twisting his mind and destroying his dreams.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, then continued sifting through the letters that held her memories. They must have meant something to him. Why else would he have kept them if they didn't? And then she saw it - a picture of them standing in the fields beyond Vector. He was standing behind her, smiling as they posed for the camera. Flowers blossomed in the background, dotting the landscape with pale shades of lavender.

The picture made her smile, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She remembered the days when she could look at him and see a glimmer of light shining in his pale blue eyes, like echoes on the surface of a lake, one single drop spreading out amongst a sea of darkness. One hope, one last chance for redemption. But where was that hope now? Was there really no chance of reaching him? Had he drifted too far to hear her voice when she called him, his laughter rising on the wind and drowning out her words.

The floorboards creaked, and Terra looked up to see Locke standing in the doorway.

"You alright?" he asked, adjusting his ragged bandana as strands of his light brown hair fell into his face.

"Yes," she said, sniffing and returning the photograph to the shoebox. "I'm fine."

"You sure about that?"

She saw him glance at the shoebox, and she nodded, not wanting him to worry about her. She didn't want any of them to worry about her. This was something she had to work through on her own. She had seen his fury light the skies, but she had also seen the kind, caring side of him that existed before the experiments began. They didn't know him then. And now it seemed like no one would get to know the part of him that sat up with her at night, helping her through her nightmares.

\---------------

A warm wind was blowing, rippling the blades of grass as flowers dipped and bowed their heads, swaying to the rhythm of the wind. It caressed the fields, spreading the flowers' fragrance for miles around, as sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating dappled patterns of light and dark beneath the hanging branches.

Terra laughed and spun in a circle before collapsing on her back in the field, sighing in contentment as she closed her eyes. The warmth of the sun kissed her cheeks, the air was filled with the sweet scent of lavender, and all around her everything was calm and peaceful. The only sound came from the birds twittering in the nearby trees. She had just started to relax when she realized that it was too quiet.

"Kefka?" She sat up and looked around.

The mage was sitting in a tree, smiling as he watched her looking for him. He covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a fit of giggles. It was really quite amusing, watching her look for him when he was directly above her.

A year had passed since Kefka suffered a nervous breakdown. It had taken a long time for Terra to convince Dr. Cid that he was well enough to go outside. But finally, after weeks of talking and negotiating with Cid, Kefka was given permission to leave the palace, as long as he was accompanied by a soldier at all times.

"Kefka, where are you?" Terra was getting worried. He wasn't supposed to be let out by himself. And if he ran off and went on a rampage somewhere, it would be on her because she was supposed to be watching him.

"Yoo-hoo."

Terra looked up and saw Kefka waving at her. "Kefka! How did you get up there?"

"I climbed up here. What? Did you think I teleported up here just because I can?"

"No, Kefka. But you disappeared so quickly I," she hesitated for a fraction of a second, "I was worried about you."

The mage laughed at her concern and slid over onto his back, his cloak and scarves obscuring her vision as they fell in her face. "You needn't worry about me, Terra. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."

Terra wrestled with his cloak as she became ensnared in the many layers of fabric he wore. Kefka laughed when he saw his favorite doll struggling to escape the swath of fabric, his arms folded over his chest as he hung upside down from a tree branch. There were times when he seemed incapable of acting his age, laughing and playing like a child. Dr. Cid once considered the possibility that Kefka had regressed to the mentality of a five year old, and if it weren't for his cunning mind and intelligence, Terra would have believed him.

Kefka was still hanging from the branch when Terra untangled the mass of fabric. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed suddenly when her head poked out from underneath his cloak. "I see you."

She couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips when she looked at him. There was something in his eyes that reminded her of his former self when he smiled at her. It wasn't the predatory smile he used when he was about to kill someone. It was warm, friendly, a look reserved just for her.

The branch shook as Kefka leapt out of the tree, sending down a flurry of white flower petals. Terra gasped, smiling as the petals rained down from above.

"It's raining flowers!" she said, her pink cloak swirling about her ankles as she spun in a circle beneath the branches of the tree, catching petals in her hands like flakes of snow.

"You like that, huh?" Kefka's smile widened. "Well then, how do you like this?" He chuckled, and wiggled his fingers as he conjured a warm wind, then moved his hands to direct the flow of air so that it blew through the trees, scattering the flower petals as the breeze caressed the treetops.

Terra laughed, her heart filled with joy at the sight of the petals dancing on the wind. "It's so beautiful, Kefka. Thank you."

"Anything for you, my pretty doll." He pulled her close, the flowers cascading from the trees as he put his arms around her. "Believe me, little girl, I would do anything to make you happy." He leaned in close and whispered, "Anything, Terra. You are such a lovely little doll...the loveliest I have ever seen." He then looked at the soldier who was sitting in the shade beneath the trees. "You there, come over here for a moment. I want you to take a picture of us." Kefka looked back at Terra and said, "I want something to help me remember."

The soldier stood up, taking a moment to stretch his limbs before making his way over to them.

Kefka stepped out into the sun and stood behind Terra. He held out his arms, the corners of his cloak between his fingers so that it appeared as though he was going to wrap her in his cloak. "Are you ready?"

Terra nodded. "I'm ready."

\-------------

It was hard to believe that this was the same man who tracked them across the desert, and threatened to burn them alive if they didn't give him what he wanted. She could still remember hearing him scream, just seconds before his voice was lost amid the roar of machinery, as Figaro castle buried beneath the sand. It was like she didn't know him, like he was just another stranger lost amid the endless sands of time.

"Maybe he cared too much," she murmured, her head down as she sat on the edge of the bed with her hands in her lap. "Or maybe he doesn't know what love is. Maybe he thought that in order to love someone, you have to own and possesses them. And if so, why? Why did he start thinking like that?"

She looked up when she felt the mattress shift, and saw Locke sitting beside her on the bed.

"Listen to me, Terra," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "Kefka is a monster. The guy is completely out of his mind. There isn't any rhyme or reason to what he does. It's madness. Plain and simple."

"But it's not that simple! Kefka is half-human, like me. Those experiments changed him into someone he didn't recognize. He said so himself. He said he could see it when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and that it sometimes felt like he had wings. Phantom wings. That's how he described it."

"And you're going to believe the words of a madman when he tells you he has wings?"

"Yes, I am. Because when I looked at him, I could see them too. I think he saw in me what I couldn't see myself, and maybe that's why he became so possessive of me. He knew that I was the only one who understood what he was going through. He knew I shared in his experiences, his struggle to define himself when he didn't fully understand who or what he was becoming."

Her words trailed off into silence, as she lifted her head and gazed out the window at the sky above. The sun was sinking below the horizon, the sky bathed in brilliant shades of amber, crimson and gold. "Maybe we're both monsters," she whispered. "Maybe we're not supposed to know how to love someone. Maybe it's impossible, and this is as close as we'll ever come to knowing what love is."


	25. Toys part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen some websites describe Kefka as a "psychopathic manchild", which made me think it would be fun to write something that explored that side of his character. Hopefully I've done a good job without making him too child-like. But this is Kefka we're talking about, and I'm pretty sure anything goes when you're dealing with an insane mage.

Kefka sat on the exam table in Cid's lab, his attention focused on the doll in his lap. It wasn't unusual for him to bring one of his dolls with him to the lab, using them as a distraction to take his mind off the pain and unpleasant side effects that came with his weekly infusions. And although he'd done this several times now, Dr. Cid still hadn't gotten used to the sight of a grown man wearing makeup and playing with dolls.

The mage giggled, tossing the doll in the air and catching it when it came down. This doll was precious to him. It was a gift given to him on his birthday, and it bore a startling resemblance to the girl who'd given it to him.

"Are you ready, Kefka?" the doctor asked, rolling up Kefka's sleeve and dabbing at his arm with a damp cottonball.

"Mm-hmm." Kefka nodded, humming to himself as he smoothed out the creases in the doll's dress.

The doctor inserted the needle under his skin, and within seconds Kefka started shaking, his eyes watering from the pain as magic flooded his body, setting his blood on fire with intense burning pain. The tremors started spreading down his arms, until his whole body was consumed with violent spasms. His sharp nails dug into the doll's body, a scream tore from his lungs, and stuffing flew in all directions as he ripped the doll in half.

At first he didn't realize what he'd done. His thoughts disconnected from the rest of his body, his vision blurring as a multitude of screaming voices echoed in his mind. And then he heard it, words piercing the endless noise that reverberated off the inside of his skull.

"Kefka, your doll..."

He opened his eyes and looked down at the torn bits of fabric and stuffing in his hands, staring blankly at it as he struggled to understand what had happened.

Dr. Cid gave him a curious look, unsure of how to respond to his odd behavior. The next thing he knew Kefka had thrown the doll across the room, its severed head hitting the vials on the counter and spilling them onto the floor.

Kefka launched into a full on temper tantrum, screaming and throwing anything within his reach. He set fire to anything that didn't break, not caring if they strapped him to the table for hours on end while they waited for him to calm down, or locked him in that padded room like they did the last time he threw a fit. All that mattered was that his doll was gone, his precious doll, the doll Terra had given him for his birthday last year.

"Kefka! Kefka, calm down! It's alright! It's just a doll! We'll get you another one, just please calm down!"

He was vaguely aware of the doctor's voice, trying to calm him down as someone seized him by the arm, and another needle drove itself into his flesh as he was forced down on the table. Within seconds his mind began shutting down, his body going limp as his eyes closed.

"That's it, Kekfa. You're alright. Just relax. Everything is going to be fine."

A low groan escaped his lips. He was falling into blackness, the world collapsing around him as his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

Kefka awoke several hours later, his vision blurred and his mind drifting in a haze of confusion. He blinked his eyes and moaned, turning his head and gazing about the room. It took him a moment to realize that he was in the specialized care unit designed for those who were taking part in the Magitek Knight program. He knew this place well, with its white walls and cold, sterile environment. He lifted his hand, only to feel the leather straps biting into his skin. Unable to speak, he cried out in anger and frustration, and was greeted with the doctor's voice, calmly reassuring him that everything was alright.

Why did everyone keep telling him that? Did he look like he was alright? Because he certainly didn't feel like it. His head ached, his hands were still shaking due to the side effects of the infusion, and he felt horribly nauseous. But oh yes, everything was just peachy keen.

"Kefka, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

"I'm in hell," the mage growled. "Where else would I be?"

"Now Kefka, if you promise to behave yourself, I'll remove the restraints and let you play with some of these toys."

The mage raised an eyebrow, the painted lines on his forehead raising with it. He looked down at the foot of the bed, and saw a variety of stuffed animals lined up along the footboard. His eyes fell on a purple dragon plushie, and Cid smiled.

"Do you like that one, Kefka? I know it's not the same as your doll, but you can have it if you want." He unbuckled the metal clasp that held the leather strap in place on Kefka's wrist, and when the mage showed no signs of becoming violent, he cautiously removed the remaining straps.

Kefka sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists to get the circulation flowing through his pale skin. He frowned when he saw that some of the makeup on his hands had come off, then reached for the doll that had been propped up against the railing on the bed.

"What happened in there?" asked Dr. Cid. He ducked as Kefka threw the doll at him. "Kefka."

"What?" he spat, looking back at the plush dragon at the foot of the bed. This dragon, which was nothing more than a sad attempt to replace his favorite doll, wouldn't last more than an hour once he decided to 'play' with it.

"Tell me what happened."

"I killed it," said Kefka. His explanation was plain and simple, and spoken without a hint of emotion. "The doll was mine to look after, and I killed it. I could feel the magic, starting at the base of my spine and burning all the way up to my brain, and when it hit it was like everything in my mind shattered and fell apart. I can't even begin to describe the amount of pain I feel when that happens."

"But I've seen you destroy your dolls before, Kefka. I know how much you like destroying them when you're in a bad mood. So why did it bother you so much to see this one torn to shreds?"

Kefka glared at him. "I'll have you know that I don't kill them just because I'm 'in a bad mood', as you put it. Sometimes I kill them because I feel like it. Because it's fun to kill things. But that doll, it was given to me on my birthday. Terra gave it to me. It was precious to me because it reminded me of her." He paused, gazing down at the clean, white sheets on his bed. "Perhaps I need to make myself a new toy, one that's a bit more durable and won't break as easily as the others."


	26. Illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Kefka's often overlooked abilities is the power to create illusions. I always wondered what would happen if he created an illusion for Terra. So I wrote this to explore the idea of Kefka creating a fantasy world for him and his favorite doll.

He can set the world on fire with his touch. His fingers, laced with scars from burn injuries, close around the doorknob, and he feels it growing warm in his hand. Which is amusing because people have actually been burned from touching things he's handled. He likes to laugh when someone reaches for a doorknob and burns the hide off their fingers. But not today. Not when the flames have consumed him and all he feels is fire burning in his blood.

He leaned against the door, his strength failing as he collapsed onto the hardwood floor. He closed his eyes, feeling the cool wood make contact with his hot skin as he slipped into a dazed stupor. It wasn't long until Terra found him lying on the floor, his eyes opening as she pressed the palm of her hand against his forehead.

A simpering smile spread across his painted face, and he giggled, one hand pawing at her dangling curls like a kitten batting a piece of string. She'd seen him like this before, delirious from fever and sick from those horrible experiments. He was shivering and sweating, with beads of perspiration coating his forehead, standing out like a galaxy of fine dots against his pale skin. His makeup was smudged, distorting his clownish features with streaks of red, white, purple and yellow that dripped down his face and stained the ruff around his neck.

"Come on, Kefka," she murmured. "We need to get you into bed."

She slid her hands beneath his back, his head lolling to the side as she eased him into a sitting position. His feathers tickled her nose, obscuring her vision as they danced in front of her face. She was lucky he didn't weigh much, which made it easier to lift him onto his feet and walk him to the bed.

They made it halfway across the room when Kefka seized her by the wrist, a mad glint in his eyes as he laughed and spun her around. He didn't see her as Terra Branford. In his mind she was the Queen of the ancient castle, her dress flowing like waves of liquid silk as they danced across the ballroom floor.

He dipped her low enough that her hair brushed against the floor, and she gasped, her eyes widening as she looked up and saw a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Curtains in shades of blue and gold were rippling in the wind, the scent of jasmine drifting in through an open window, enveloping her with its delicate fragrance as the illusion took hold of her senses, whisking her away to a world that existed only in his mind.

She began to lose herself in his creation. Her eyes closed as she let the rhythm of his movements guide her in a dance as old as time. There was music playing somewhere in the distance, an exotic melody that filled the air and lifted her towards the stars. It felt like she was flying, climbing higher and higher with each step they took, until suddenly the illusion faded, plunging her down into the depths of reality.

She opened her eyes and saw Kefka lying on the bed. He'd fallen across the mattress, his cloak trailing over the side of the bed, with feathers scattered across the surface of the multicolored duvet.

Terra moved towards him, taking a seat beside him on the bed. "Kefka, are you alright?" She leaned over him, one hand on his shoulder as she gently shook him. "Can you hear me?"

His lashes lifted to reveal cloudy, pale blue eyes, and he moaned. It had taken the last of his strength to create the illusion for her, but it was worth it, because they had been able to escape the confines of reality, existing in a world of his own design, a paradise made just for them.

He felt the mattress shift as Terra stood up, her footsteps retreating down the hall as she went to retrieve a bowl of water and a washcloth from the bathroom. Her name escaped his lips, and he smiled, remembering the way she looked in his illusion. There were rings on her fingers and ribbons in her hair, her dress shining like opals in the moonlight. There was also a crown made from rose gold and diamonds encircling her brow like a wreath. It was the image of her wearing this crown that lingered in his mind long after he fell asleep. And when he dreamed he saw her dancing beneath the moon, still wearing the crown made from shimmering bands of fire and starlight.


	27. Master of Puppets 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, without a doubt, the most disturbing story I've ever written. It was inspired by episode 225 of Bones, which featured a serial killer who used corpses as marionettes. When I saw it, all I could think of was Kefka, and how it looked like the sort of thing he'd do.
> 
> I apologize in advance to my readers. You may need a case of brain bleach after reading this one.

 

Kefka liked playing with dolls. But Terra wasn't the first person he turned into a living playmate. There were other, less fortunate souls who crossed his path, only to be made into inanimate objects for his own amusement. The first was a young woman from Tzen. Her husband had been forced to join the Imperial army, and when she came to Vector to demand that he be released, the Emperor ordered Kefka to dispose of her.

She was sitting on the palace steps when he approached her, her head in her hands as she wept. She didn't even hear his footsteps as he crept up from behind, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight as he prepared to strike.

Kefka seized her around the waist, yanking her off her feet and pressing the blade against her throat. "Don't scream," he whispered, his voice hissing in her ear. A childish giggle slipped past his lips, and he tightened his grip on her waist. "No, not yet," he murmured. "I want you to scream for me, but not here."

He forced her up the palace steps and down the hallway into his bedroom. She gasped when he spun her around, and came face to face with the hideous clown. Kefka leaned over her, feeling her body tremble as his fingertips brushed against her soft, supple skin. He grinned, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her back against the desk.

"No, please," she whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Not that. Anything but that. Please."

Kefka chuckled. It was a high pitched, horrible sound that sent chills traveling down the length of her spine. "Anything you say?" He raised an eyebrow, the painted lines on his brow rising with it.

"No, wait! Please - " Her voice died in her throat as he slid the silver blade across her neck.

A smile spread across his painted lips as blood spilled onto the floor, cascading over his wrists in pulsing waves that mirrored the rhythm of her dying heart. The warm spurts of crimson fluid soaked her dress, dribbling down her chest and pooling on the floor at Kefka's feet. He let the sticky substance coat his fingers, lacing his pallid flesh with scarlet ribbons, then brought them to his lips, tasting the purity that he lost.

Her blood was clean, completely devoid of the flith that stained his insides, rotting his brain and corrupting his mind. She didn't bleed magic when he cut her open, didn't ooze blackened grains of corrosive sludge from the center of her being. How nice, he thought, to be free from such corruption. Nice, but certainly not as much fun now that he'd become a coldblooded murderer.

There were times when Kefka preferred to make his own toys, special toys, made from flesh and bone for his amusement. He had everything he needed to turn her into the perfect doll, including an assortment of fabric for making clothes, and plenty of cordage so he could watch her dance.

He dressed her in the finest clothes, using material and patterns similar to the ones he used to make his own clothes. He played with her like he would any other toy, positioning her body on the foot of his bed, humming to himself as he brushed her hair, braiding it and tying colorful ribbons in the long, dark strands. He talked to her and fed her oatmeal three times a day, the metal spoon scraping against her front teeth until they were chipped and worn from repeated attempts to force her jaws open.

Kefka made her into a lovely little doll, but the process wasn't complete until he could make her dance for him. He stole some of the tools from the Magitek Research Facility, and used them to drill holes in her wrists and ankles. Then came the cords, thick, black cords that slid through the openings he made in her limbs. He strung her up from the ceiling, wrapped a length of cordage around his hand, and moved away from the bed.

Her left hand was lifted off the mattress, then her right. Kefka started laughing, feeling pleased with himself as she was lifted into the air, with strings attached to her arms, legs, wrists and ankles. He'd turned her into a human marionette, her corpse dangling from the ceiling of his bedroom. Whenever he tugged on the strings, her body would move and sway, casting grisly shadows on the wall.

If Terra knew what he was doing with his victims, she would be grateful for the fact that he used the slave crown on her, rather than turning her into one of his human puppets. Because despite how horrible the slave crown was, it was still better than this gruesome hobby.


	28. Silence

It wasn't always screams and fire, noise, chaos and confusion. Sometimes the silence was overwhelming, his senses leaving him as magic flowed into his veins.

Drop by drop, one ounce at a time, his humanity disintegrating, his memories fading as darkness fell around him. He wasn't blind to what these experiments were doing to him. He was well aware of the crippling madness that consumed him, his fingers twitching as he stared at the white walls, white ceiling, nothing but white as far as the eye could see. This sterile environment, bathed in white, a sickness born from the corruption of the empire, an illness that would purge him of his sanity. But throughout this madness one thing remained the same, one thing he was aware of other than the complete and total loss of who he was. He'd lost himself, he knew that. But he still had her.

She remained a constant presence, forever at his side through his sickness, through his pain, his trials and suffering. He told her not to come, he hated letting her see him like this. He didn't want her to know how bad it really was. But as his condition worsened, as the madness deepened and he started to lose control, she began to worry about him. She started coming with him to the lab, watching as the doctor began the infusion process, watching as he slipped away.

There was a time when he would have done anything for her. He tried to protect her, shielding her from the truth. But even if she hadn't seen him twisting and writhing, screaming himself hoarse as laughter echoed off the walls, she would always remember the man he was and love him as though nothing had changed.

And then came the silence. Sometimes the silence hurt worse than hearing him scream. When they came for him, when they pushed her aside and wheeled him to the recovery room, that was when she felt her heart breaking.

He lay on his side, his lean frame surrounded by a mass of sheets and blankets. They gripped the corners of the sheet, lifting him up and placing him on the bed. He was so thin, his frail body lost amid the wires and tubes. It was several minutes before they let her in, her anxiety mounting as she waited to see him.

She collapsed onto the chair beside him, her fingers intertwined with his as she held his hand. They didn't want her seeing him like this, the doctor bowing his head as he walked out of the room, but they couldn't keep her from him even if they tried. Terra would always be there for him, loyal to a fault, supporting him even at the cost of her own freedom. She couldn't bring herself to leave, not after everything he had done for her. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, and the soft sound of her crying replaced the silence.


	29. Cold Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a deleted scene from Broken Bonds. My muse would not leave me alone until I wrote it. And with Halloween being right around the corner, I figured now would be a good time to post this. 
> 
> Fair warning - this isn't too graphic, but if you're squeamish about surgery or medical procedures you may want to skip this chapter.

They brought him back to the hospital and laid him on the operating table, positioning him on his stomach with a towel draped across his waist. His body was limp, the sedatives keeping him under control as they fastened the straps around his wrists and ankles. They weren't taking any chances with him, not after what happened during his last tantrum.

The doctor sighed, shaking his head as he stared at Kefka's pale form in disbelief. He reached for the upper left wing on Kefka's back, lifting and stretching it as he examined the soft, white feathers. He'd heard Terra arguing with Celes about Kefka turning into an Esper, but he never imagined that Kefka was actually in the process of transforming into some sort of godlike being.

The upper wings were larger and more developed than the ones below. They grew in layers, the upper wings resting atop the lower ones. If he wanted, Kefka could fold his wings against his back, flattening the feathery appendages so that they were barely noticeable beneath his many layers of clothes. He had little control over the second set of wings, which were primitive compared to the others. They were small, approximately seven inches long, while the others were over a foot in length.

When he finished measuring and examining Kefka's wings, Cid moved on to the purplish discoloration of his skin. Kefka always removed his makeup before going to bed, so to see him with dark blotches that resembled purple body paint on his arms, legs, back, chest and abdomen was unusual. The doctor ran his fingers over the back of Kefka's hand, and was surprised when the color didn't come off on his hands. He even tried removing it with a damp washcloth, but this wasn't makeup. It was the natural color of Kefka's skin.

"Let's get him prepped so I can perform a biopsy on his skin and wings. I want to know what's causing this."

The mage began to stir. "Terra," he moaned, fluttering his wings and lifting his head an inch or two off the table. "Terra, come back... Come back. I need you. I can't... I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. I can't... I..." His words trailed off into silence, the images around him fading in and out of focus as he slipped into unconsciousness.

He did not consent to this. They'd taken him from his home during one of his episodes, and now he was at their mercy. It was during moments like these that he remembered he was a test subject, an animal for them to experiment on. He had magic, he had strength, but none of that meant anything when he was stripped of his humanity and forced to submit to their will.

His vision returned as they switched on the overhead light, the bright glare shining in his eyes. He winced and cried out, closing his eyes as a pair of hands closed around his head, turning it to the side. He could feel the smooth latex against his skin and knew exactly what they were going to do. It wasn't the first time they'd taken him against his will for testing, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"Lie still, Kefka. This will only take a minute."

The latex brushed against one of his wings, gliding over his feathers and carefully separating them. A needle was inserted under his skin, injecting him with a local anesthetic so he wouldn't feel any pain during the procedure. But they started the procedure too soon, fearing that the sedatives might wear off before they could complete the operation.

Kefka tried to move, lifting his head and moaning as they forcefully removed a few of his feathers. He whimpered and moaned, feeling the skin stretch as yet another feather was torn from his flesh. The larger ones were harder to extract, and required a bit of effort as the doctor twisted and pulled before finally managing to extract the snow white feather.

A voice warned him not to move, and he felt a hand forcing his head down on the table. The doctor cleaned the area with a moist cotton swab, then came the cold steel gliding through his flesh with little resistance, making him want to scream as it shaved off layers of tissue.

Some feeble attempt at language dribbled past his lips, ending in an agonized whine as drops of blood stained his feathers. They began as tiny beads, welling up and forming a liquid mound before trickling down his skin. The doctor paused, dabbing at the scarlet stains with a cottonball. He could feel the bones beneath Kefka's skin, the skeletal structure mimicking that of Espers who had heavier, sturdy wings, and made a mental note to order an x-ray once the biopsy was complete.

The anesthetic took effect by the time Cid was halfway through with the operation. Not that it mattered much to Kefka. The worst was already over, the incision dripping blood into his soft feathers. He closed his eyes, praying that he would lose consciousness before they moved on to the next part of his body they wanted to dissect.

He listened to the voices and murmurs, not knowing or caring what they were talking about. He should have been used to it by now, their grave expressions, the way they shook their heads and frowned, discussing his condition like he had some sort of fatal illness. But it never got any better. It didn't get any easier. They were more forceful with him ever since Gestahl allowed the use of medication to keep him under control, and this was the end result.

The doctor sutured the wound, mending his wing before stopping to write some notes his clipboard. Kefka watched from the corner of his eye as the doctor placed the tissue sample in a specimen jar and gave it to the nurse. A hushed conversation ensued, followed shortly by a pair of hands gripping his left ankle. A marker was placed againat his thigh after several minutes of poking and prodding, marking the location they were going to operate on next.

Kefka made one last feeble attempt to escape the restraints, screaming as the familiar feeling of hands closed around his head, followed by a second pair of hands on his back. He tried kicking the doctor as he felt the needle pierce his thigh, but all he got for his efforts was a gag placed in his mouth to silence him.

The mage collapsed against the table, exhaling sharply through his nose as he tried looking over his shoulder to see what the doctor was doing. He then looked up at the people who were holding him down, and heard Cid order them to tighten the restraints. Fine with me, he thought. They hadn't drugged him enough to make him forget the faces of those around him. He almost laughed when he saw the surgical masks they wore. As if that would obscure their identity. He'd be a little sore afterwards, but it wouldn't stop him from hunting them down and picking them off like flies when this was over.

Dr. Cid waited a couple minutes before testing the area that was to be operated on, making sure it was comfortably numb. He noted Kefka's reaction, watching the mage squirm when he pricked him with a pin. He then picked up a tool that was similar in length and appearance to a pencil, the handle covered in a layer of blue plastic with a hollow metal tip.

Kefka braced himself, thinking that he would soon feel a razor blade slicing through his skin, only to have a half-inch steel rod driven into his thigh. He bit down on the gag in his mouth, whimpering as the doctor began making circular motions with his hand. The pain had been dulled by the anesthetic, but that didn't stop him from feeling the twisting, rocking motions used to push the steel instrument deeper into his skin.

He was going to be sick. He was sure of it. And to think they called him mad, while they forced him down and cut him open like a lump of beef. How was this any different from what he did? He'd killed several people using similar methods, his claws sinking deep into their body as he carved out their internal organs. But no, they were different. They were allowed to use medical research as an excuse.

And somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice was speaking. Kefka listened as it spoke, and heard it say that he signed up for this. He volunteered to become a test subject in the Magitek Research Department. This immediately lead to an argument inside his own head, and he screamed that this wasn't what he signed up for.

Kefka struggled against the restraints, still arguing and fighting with the demons in his head. Such a splendid time to start quarreling with himself over the decisions of people who were just as crazy as he was. What sane person would even think to experiment on human beings, allowing them to become the kind of nightmarish abomination that he was. All of it, his wings, his pointed ears, the madness that lurked inside his mind. Was he not an outward extension of their own inner madness?

He clenched his fists, his body going limp as soon as his muscles relaxed. He couldn't fight it anymore. And to make matters worse, the pain combined with the amount of stress he was experiencing made his stomach churn, until he retched and began to choke on his own vomit. One of the nurses ran around to the front of the table, her fingers drenched in rancid fluid as she pulled the gag out of his mouth, her other hand thumping him on the back as she tried to clear his airway.

Dr. Cid looked up from his work, swearing as the mass of bile and vomit spilled onto the floor. He'd forgotten about Kefka's sensitive stomach, as well as the digestive issues that plagued him since the experiments began.

Within seconds the nurse stuffed a silver basin under his chin, holding it in place as Kefka continued to vomit. His vision blurred, and for a moment he could have sworn he felt the room lurch sideways. A voice was speaking, a hand dabbing at his face and neck with a damp washcloth. He tried to focus but it was nearly impossible to concentrate on what was happening around him.

"It's alright, Kefka. It's almost over now."

A low, pitiful moan escaped his lips. Kefka closed his eyes, seeing only her as the darkness surrounded him. If only she could hear his cries as he reached across the vast distance that separated them. It was this moment, this separation from her that pained him more than anything else. It was the reason why he was sick, his stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot as his insides rebelled against him.

The doctor pulled the cord taut, knotting it twice before snipping the thread with a pair of scissors.

"It's all over, Kefka."

Kefka didn't bother opening his eyes as Cid lifted his hand off the table. He felt something soft pressed against the incision, followed by a thin material that wrapped around his hand. He realized that he must have blacked out, because that the last thing he remembered was being impaled upon the doctor's steel blade. But it wasn't just his wing and thigh that had been subjected to this torment. They operated on his left arm as well, then finished it off with a shave biopsy on the back of his hand.

They unfastened the straps around his wrists and ankles, put him on a gurney and wheeled him to another room where he could rest until the sedatives wore off. He awoke some time later, and found himself staring out the window at a blood red sky. The sun was setting on the horizon, the clouds catching the colors of the evening skies, mirroring the crimson stains that adorned the dressings on his hand. His wings twitched, his eyelids fluttered open, and when he looked out the window he saw her smiling face visible in the circle of the sun.

"Terra," he whispered, his hand trembling as he reached towards the sun. He pressed his palm against the glass, wondering where she'd gone and if he'd ever see her again. They didn't know how much she meant to him, but at least someone had enough sense to put his doll on the corner of the bed for him.

His hand slowly slid down the glass, his fingers finding the doll that had been propped against the railing on the bed. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Its eyes were so hollow and cold, not at all like the warm smile and bright eyes of the girl whose face he saw in the clouds.

He lay down on his side, being careful not to disturb the dressings on his wounds, and fell asleep holding the doll against his chest. He would find her one day. He was sure of it. But for now he was too tired and sore to move.


	30. Happy Birthday, Kefka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is Kefka's birthday, and after writing so much dark, gruesome stuff, I decided to try for something a bit more pleasant. This story takes place before Kefka completely lost his mind. Kefka is 26 and Terra is 9.

It was that time again. The time of year when trees turned from lush forests of emerald green to blazing banners on fire with all the colors of the sunset. Scarlet and gold, copper, and warm shades of amber danced upon the wind, rising high enough to touch the clouds before spiraling towards the earth. In a way those leaves mirrored his own rise to power, rising when the first ounce of magic entered his bloodstream, rising just to fall as the world crumbled beneath him. And all that remained was a clown whose colors matched the dying sunset.

It had been almost two years since the experiments began. He didn't know how he made it far, surviving countless hours of bizarre medical tests, painful injections and an incurable illness that was slowly eating away at the fabric of his mind. He was ill and exhausted, left alone during the time of year when most people came together with their families to celebrate everything they were thankful for.

And what about him? What did Kefka Palazzo have to be thankful for? The fact that he was still alive was something to be thankful for. But could it really be considered living when he had to tolerate lapses in memory, seizures and migraines that left him bedridden for days at a time? He was broken and alone, and if all he had to be thankful for was the fact that he had more of the same to look forward to, then it wasn't shaping up to be a very good birthday.

He was well aware of the fact that today was his birthday. The only problem was that no one seemed to remember the significant event which took place on this day. It seemed impossible that the world should pass him by while he felt as though he were slowly dying. And yet it did, because now was the time of year when people thought more of their friends and families, of relatives they hadn't seen in years, and of good food and holiday cheer.

Everyone else had families to go home to. And what did he have? Nothing but the cold, sterile room he stayed in during his birthday last year. If he was lucky, he might be able to avoid being hospitalized on birthday. So far so good, he thought, taking a step forward and moving closer towards the fountain in the center of town.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the cool scents of autumn filled his nostrils. The sun had already set, the stars reflecting on the surface of the water. This is where it all began. It was where he experienced his first taste of magic. He remembered how it felt to lose himself in the moment, leaping from the fountain as he summoned a wave of water, then sent the swirling torrent through the air as he attacked Leo in a fit of rage. His fingers made contact with the smooth marble, and he opened his eyes, seeing a face he no longer recognized staring back at him.

"Happy birthday to me," he whispered, his tone laced with bitterness. So this was it. This is what he had become. And yet there was still one person who stood by him no matter what, one small voice that broke the silence, gazing up at him as her fingers curled around his wrist.

He looked over his shoulder, gazing down at the little girl whose face was framed with delicate strands of mint green curls. She was smiling at him, always so cheerful, her heart leaping with joy the moment she laid eyes on him. She was the perfect example of childhood innocence. She didn't see the crimes he committed since gaining the ability to use magic. All she saw was him, Kefka, her best friend, her brother, her family.

"Happy birthday, Kefka!" She was holding a cupcake and a mug of hot cocoa that she'd swiped from the palace kitchens, offering them to him with a smile on her face. And judging by the smudge of frosting on her cheek, the little girl had helped herself to a cupcake or two while she was at it. "I brought you a present. It's chocolate with strawberry frosting."

He looked at her in disbelief. Most children, and even some adults, would run screaming into the streets the moment he set foot into the room. But not Terra. She had seen the good in him before the experiments began. She knew him better than anyone else, she loved him, and she still believed that there was good in his heart.

"You got that for me?"

"Yep. And I made the hot cocoa all by myself, then added some extra marshmallows because I know how much you like them."

A smile tugged at the corners of his painted lips. Nobody else had thought to bring him gifts or celebrate his birthday. She was the only one who cared enough to rememeber his birthday. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, motioning for her to join him. The little girl sat down beside him, smiling as he took the cupcake and began picking at the brightly colored wrapper.

"You know what, Terra? Sometimes I think you've got a heart big enough to love everyone in the world." He peeled the paper off the cupcake and took a bite of the sweet pastry, then washed it down with some hot cocoa. "It means a lot to me that you would do this. You're the only one who doesn't see me as some sort of monster, and to be honest you're the only real family that I have."

Terra giggled, her feet dangling over the side of the fountain as the water reflected the image of them sitting together. They were grateful for the fact that they had each other. For Terra it meant having someone who loved her, making her feel less frightened and alone. For Kefka it meant having someone he could relate to, and as long as he had her he knew there would always be someone who cared about him, which was the greatest gift anyone could receive on their birthday.


	31. Changing Roles

He did everything for her when she was young. He got her out of bed in the morning, struggling with the little girl as he tried to get her dressed. She was always moving and squirming. And being the playful, energetic little thing that she was meant that Terra didn't like to sit still for long periods of time. He told himself this was normal, and even managed to smile when she fussed and threw a pair of socks at him.

She was like a sister to him, like the family her never had. He was patient with her, picking her up and helping her into her seat at the kitchen table. He made her blueberry pancakes for breakfast. It was her favorite when she was a child, and if she wanted a snack between meals, she only needed to tug on his cloak and give him her sweetest smile. It was enough to make his heart melt, and within a matter of minutes the inseparable duo was headed to the palace kitchens to swipe some freshly made chocolate chip cookies.

The years passed quickly, with Terra becoming more independent as she got older. But every now and then she needed assistance with something. It was usually something simple, like lacing up her boots or reaching a book on the shelf.

One morning Kefka was sitting at his desk when he heard her call his name. He rose from his seat and made his way down the hall, stopping in front of the bathroom door. The little girl had gone in there to shower and wash her hair, but she had difficulty drying her hair and sometimes asked for help once she was finished bathing.

He opened the door and saw her standing next to the bathtub with a towel draped around her shoulders. Her bare feet were just visible beneath the soft, blue material, her wet, mint green curls clinging to the sides of her face. He knew what she needed without even asking, and sat down on the stool beside the bathtub so he could dry her hair.

\-----------

Years have passed. There are pictures on the mantle that tell their story with the passage of time. And while the old photographs often showed them enjoying many a warm summer days in the fields beyond Vector, with Terra weaving daisy chains and Kefka relaxing in the sun, the more recent ones were quite different, and often showed Kefka climbing trees or sitting beside her in the weeds.

They had been playing games in the forest when those pictures were taken, the mage skipping ahead and laughing gleefully, with sunshine glinting off the silver charm dangling from his ponytail. He stopped short of the trees, beckoning her to join him before turning and bolting into woods, his flowing cloak of amber and gold billowing out behind him as he went. It was just another one of his childish games, except she wasn't a child anymore, and Kefka was almost thirty-two years old.

These photographs, these faded remnants of their past, had started collecting dust as the years slowly past. It was her job to keep them clean, which she would do when she wasn't busy looking after him.

Kefka slid the shower door open, his hands shaking as he reached for the towel and wrapped it around his waist. The strength went out of his limbs, and he all but collapsed onto the stool beside the bathtub.

He was still for several minutes, his head bowed with long strands of blond hair falling forward to frame his face. It was days like this that he wondered how he was still alive. How had he survived everything they put him through? How did he make it this far? The answer came in the form of a teenaged girl who knocked on the door, asking if she could come in.

It took all of his remaining strength to lift his head and answer her. He didn't want her to see him like this, but he didn't have a choice. There were days when he was too sick to get out of bed and function, days when simple tasks became a chore, and if he wanted anything done he needed to rely on her.

"Look at me, Terra," he said, holding up a trembling hand as she knelt down behind him and reached for the spare towel. "Those infusions were supposed to make me into the ultimate magitek soldier. I was supposed to be an elite, but how can I be considered one of the best when I look like this?"

She rubbed his hair with the towel, keeping quiet as he complained about what the experiments had done to him. She didn't have the words she needed to comfort him, and long about now she knew that there was nothing she could say that would help. But her actions were enough to ease the pain, and after she was finished drying his hair and helping him get dressed, she took him by the hand and lead him into the living room.

He sighed heavily, leaning back and allowing himself to sink into the plush lining of the couch. Kefka closed his eyes, relaxing in front of the fireplace while Terra went into the kitchen and started making him a cup of hot cocoa. Much had changed during the last few years, but one thing that remained was Kefka's love of hot cocoa.

She put her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake to get his attention. Kefka snorted and opened his eyes, looking around in confusion as he tried to remember where he was. It took a minute for him to remember that he was home, safe and sound and with the one person who truly cared about him. He then looked down at the cup of cocoa in her hand and smiled.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to lift his spirits. Terra sat down on the floor beside him, looking up at all the pictures on the mantle as he sipped his cocoa. He might have forgotten what type of person he was long ago, but Terra would never forget.


	32. Broken

It wasn't the first time he'd injured himself during his training. She'd seen him fall several times, each more painful than the last, always watching him from a distance, unable to catch him when he fell. Sometimes she blamed herself for not watching him close enough, for turning her back, just for a moment, even though she knew she couldn't always be there for him. He needed help that she couldn't provide, but that didn't stop her from trying. And until he told them what was happening, until he allowed them to treat his illness, there wasn't much she could do for him.

This time was worse, much worse than she'd seen him before. Kefka had been trying to teach himself how to fly using Float, but he hadn't mastered the ability to use high level magic, and fell several feet from the upstairs landing onto the hardwood floor.

He was scarcely breathing when she found him, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth and pooling on the floor. Terra began to panic, wondering if it was safe to move him or if she should call Dr. Cid for help.

She knelt down beside him on the floor and tried calling his name, only to receive a faint, gurgling groan that built into a scream the moment she laid a hand on him.

"Kefka, what's wrong? Tell me what hurts."

His breath caught in his chest and he started coughing, bringing up a mouthful of bright red fluid. He was unable to speak, one hand clutching his chest as he choked and gasped. She thought she heard him say her name, followed by silence as he tried to sit up and collapsed onto his back.

It didn't take long for Terra to realize that he must have broken his ribs. He might have punctured a lung, but there was no way to know for sure unless she called the doctor, and by then it might be too late.

She sat down beside him on the floor, taking his hand in hers. "Can you heal yourself?" she asked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she spoke. Dear god, the ruff around his neck was soaked with blood. Why didn't he go to Cid and tell him what was happening? Why did he refuse to get help? Why did he keep doing this to himself, repeating the same actions over and over in hopes of getting a different result?

Kefka swallowed hard and mouthed the word "no". He'd always been able to heal himself whenever his training left him bruised and broken on the floor. But not this time. And unless he received medical care within the next couple of minutes, he was liable to suffocate as his lungs filled with blood.

"Hold still," said Terra. "I might be able to help."

She hadn't mastered the advanced healing spells she'd seen listed on the notes in Cid's office, but anything was better than leaving him to bleed to death on the floor. Terra placed her hand over his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to focus on the task at hand. She had to concentrate. Kefka's life depended on it.

A ball of light formed in the palm of her hand, its gentle glow bathing them in a white, ethereal light. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm, then closed her eyes and willed the energy into his broken body.

Kefka's faded blue eyes widened, the light washing over him before absorbing into his skin. It went deep, penetrating every fiber of his being and mending his broken bones. He could feel it spreading throughout his chest, warming his insides and soothing his pain. His eyes closed, his breath coming easier as he inhaled slowly.

"Terra." His arm snaked around her back, pulling her close enough that she could feel his heart beating in his chest. "Thank you," he murmured.

Terra was still, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, his chest rising and falling with deep, easy breathing. She blinked her eyes and a fresh wave of tears trickled down her cheeks. If only it were this easy to mend everything that was wrong with him. But there were some things even magic couldn't fix.


End file.
